


Cruel Professor, Studying Romances

by readbetweenthelions



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, F/M, M/M, fraternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readbetweenthelions/pseuds/readbetweenthelions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is just starting his freshman year of college, and he's loving it. One of the things he's loving most is his hot human anatomy instructor, Leonard "Bones" McCoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jim Kirk strolls across the quad barefoot, grass cool against his toes. He hefts a backpack on one shoulder and loops his fingers through the straps of his flip-flops. He’s going to head up to his room, drop off his stuff from class, and head right back out here for some sunbathing. It’s late August, the first day of classes, and still burning with heat from the ending summer. Jim whistles gleefully. The campus is full of bikini’d girls and shirtless guys, soaking in sun and reveling in each other. The air smells like grass frying in the sun and hot pavement and sunscreen. It was like a movie. Jim had expected college to be a thousand times better than high school, but this was a dream come true. 

Jim climbs the steps of the freshman dorm two at a time, bare toes clinging to the old carpet. At the third floor he glides into the hallway and down to Room 301. There are fresh nametags by each door, two at some and four at others. Jim’s is there beside the door to 301, written in curly writing and mounted on colored construction paper, like all the others – his is yellow, his roommate’s blue. His roommate’s got a weird name, _Spock,_ but Jim isn’t going to ask him about it. It’s not like Tiberius isn’t a weird middle name, and it’s just as bad as Spock, though why someone would willingly go by something that terrible is beyond him. Maybe it’s cultural. 

Jim fishes his keys out of his pocket, but just as he slips the room key in the lock the door is drawn open. Jim startles. 

Standing on the other side of the door is Spock, tall and pale and gaunt, with his shiny black hair cut in what can only be described as a short, neat bowl cut. He’s also got weird eyebrows, as if only half of them grow in – Jim has decided it’s best not to comment on it. 

“My apologies, Jim, I did not know you were here,” Spock says. He steps aside to let Jim into the room. 

“No problem,” Jim says. 

Jim’s stuff is still in various stages of being unpacked, though Spock’s has long been done and everything is in its proper place. Spock’s side is neat, tidy, and organized in the extreme – Jim has been here for five days and already has dirty laundry all over. 

“You going out?” Jim asks Spock, who is putting his keys in the pockets of his dark jeans. 

“Yes,” Spock says simply, and leaves. 

He’s kind of a weird kid all around, spending all his time on his computer and going to bed promptly when quiet hours start every night at ten. Spock is the kind of person quiet hours were invented for, Jim imagines, and on top of that he’s got insanely good hearing. Jim came home a little late the second or third day here, and upon hearing the click of the door Spock had rolled over and reprimanded Jim dully about being so loud, and then promptly went back to sleep. Jim tosses his bag in the direction of his desk and strips his shirt off, intending to leave it in the room. He grabs a towel and locks the door behind him on his way back outside. 

As he lounges in the sun, watching bare legs walk by and Frisbees whiz overhead, he reflects on the day of classes. He’s got two Monday-Wednesday-Friday: sociology and statistics. His soc professor is a regulation hottie, a tall woman with long blonde hair and perfect curves. It’s a good thing the class will probably be a cakewalk, because he likely won’t be paying attention in it. Spock offered to help him with stats, but Jim probably won’t need it. He used to tutor statistics in high school. 

“Hey,” says a voice – female, by its sound. He looks up at the speaker, squinting against the sunlight. 

She’s a shapely girl with dark skin and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She stands with hands on her hips in a bikini top and short jean shorts, frowning down at him. “Could you get out of the way? This is the best spot for rugby and you _really_ don’t want to get trampled.” 

Jim sits up and regards her more closely. “ _You_ play rugby?” 

“Maybe,” the girl says icily. Jim can’t tell if that means she does or not – the girl is an enigma. 

“What’s your name?” Jim asks. She’s paying attention to him, so he may as well flirt, right? 

“Uhura,” she says. 

“Interesting. Is that a cul – ” 

“I’ll ask you one more time before the entire rugby team comes over here and turns you into a pile of mush on the grass. Move.” 

Jim stands up, brushing grass off his shoulder, and snatches up his towel and shoes. “Fine, fine, I’m going,” he says, and moves to another patch of grass. He spreads his towel again and sits on it moodily, watching Uhura stalk proudly back to a crowd of beefy guys and a few broad-shouldered girls. 

A chipper voice addresses Jim from his left. “Hello!” it says, sunny as the sky above. Jim turns, and sees its owner is a skinny kid with a head full of blonde curls and a broad smile. “Are you enjoying the sunshine?” His voice is accented, something European, but Jim can’t put his finger on it. A friend of the kid’s (or so Jim assumes) is sitting beside the kid on his blanket. 

“I was until that harpy kicked me out of my spot,” says Jim, nodding towards Uhura. As if on cue, she looks directly at him, then turns back to her friends. “Jim Kirk,” he says, and holds his hand out. 

“Pavel,” says the curly-haired kid, shaking Jim’s hand energetically. “Pavel Chekov.” Ah, so it was a Russian accent. “And this is my friend Hikaru,” Pavel adds, motioning to his friend. 

“Sulu,” the friend says, “Hikaru Sulu.” He doesn’t bother shaking Jim’s hand, but instead leans back and props himself up on his hands, turning his face up to the sun. 

“What’s your major?” Pavel asks. Jim has been asked this question an incalculable number of times already, and knows he will continue to be asked it. 

“Poli sci and exercise science,” Jim says, bewildered. “How old are you, kid? You look like, fourteen.” 

“I am sixteen!” replies Pavel, without a hint of injury. “I am just skinny.” 

“Ah,” Jim says. “What are your majors, then?” 

“Computer science and physics,” Pavel chirps. 

“Physics with a bio minor,” replies Hikaru. He lays down in earnest, stretching his arms above his head. 

Jim lapses into silence, figuring there’s not much more to say. He watches Uhura sullenly as the rugby players begin to take up positions. 

“What classes did you have today?” Pavel asks, breaking Jim’s brooding thoughts once again. Jim tries to hide his frustration and turns back to Pavel. 

“Sociology and statistics,” Jim answers. “You?” 

“I didn’t have any classes today,” Pavel says, a little boastfully. “I have all my classes on Tuesday and Thursday.” 

Jim raises his eyebrows. “So you’ve got a four day weekend?” 

“I suppose so. Although I will probably use it for studying. I will have quite the courseload.” 

“Well, you’re sixteen and in college, so something tells me you can handle it.” 

“Yeah, the kid’s a genius,” Hikaru chimes in. “Plays pool better than anyone I know, calculates angles in his head…” 

Jim looks around Pavel to Hikaru. “How long have you two known each other?” he asks. 

“Four days,” Pavel replies. 

“Ah.” 

Jim has made a few friends here and there, but nothing serious. Mostly the kind of people you say hello to when you pass them in the halls, but not the kind you drink with on Friday nights. 

“Do you want to eat dinner with us?” Pavel asks. 

“Uh – ” Jim hesitates. The kid is way overzealous, and his friend seems very aloof; _but what the hell,_ Jim thinks, and figures it can’t hurt to give them a chance. “Sure.” 

Pavel grins and Hikaru gives a lazy thumbs up. Jim flips over onto his stomach to tan his back, and thinks, _at least I’m making friends._

*** 

Jim walks into his human anatomy class the next morning at 10:30, glancing around. It’s a class of about a hundred people, and Jim recognizes a few faces here and there from people he’s seen at orientation or meals or hanging out in the quad. Then he recognizes a specific face – Uhura’s. “No _way,_ ” Jim whispers under his breath, and resolves to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from her. 

There’s an old man at the front of the room, mostly balding and with wrinkled features. He looks angry, as if he’d frowned all through his life and now the expression was etched in his skin. At his side was a man considerably younger, perhaps in his mid-twenties, broad of shoulder and with dark hair and the same angry expression. He wore slacks and a blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his mid-biceps. 

_Forget the sociology prof,_ Jim thinks, _this is the one I’m going for._

“Alright, listen up, cretins,” the younger man announces in a loud voice. There’s a hint of a Southern accent around the edges, and he doesn’t exactly seem happy to be here. He crosses his arms and scowls, heavy brow knitting. “Doctor Puri here is your professor, but I am your TA. My name is Leonard McCoy, and I’ll be your instructor for this semester.” 

“I assure you all Mr. McCoy is quite up to the job,” Doctor Puri says. His voice is raspy, and not nearly so loud as McCoy’s – Jim has to strain to hear. “His knowledge is truly remarkable. I’ve heard him recite every bone in the body in alphabetical order and top-down starting with the skull.” 

“That’s why they call me Bones,” says McCoy, but Jim – and the rest of his classmates – can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His sullen expression is impenetrable. “And _no,_ I’m not going to do it for you.” 

Professor Puri outlines the syllabus, while Bones watches from a stool to the side, arms folded in front of him. He surveys each student individually, his look witheringly intense, and Jim sees a few people squirm in their seats. Likely a few people will drop this class, given how severe their instructor seems. Jim watches his face the whole time, and when Bones’ gaze rests on him, Jim makes and keeps eye contact until Bones looks to the next person down the row. 

After class, one or two people approach Puri to talk to him, but Jim makes a beeline for McCoy. 

“Mr. McCoy?” Jim says to get the man’s attention. He turns his scowl away from the stream of students he’s watching as they leave the lecture hall and towards Jim. 

“Don’t call me that,” he says. “Just McCoy. Or Bones, if you like.” 

“Bones, then,” Jim resolves boldly. “I’m Jim Kirk.” 

“Nice to meet ya, Jim Kirk,” Bones says. He doesn’t offer his hand or anything, merely switches which leg he has crossed over the other. “You got a question or something?” 

Jim stops himself from wincing. He didn’t really come up with anything – he just sort of went for it and figured it would all work out, the way he usually did. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jim says. “The syllabus calls for the 6th edition of the textbook, but I was wondering if the 5th edition will be fine?” 

Bones looks at Jim skeptically, as if he doesn’t believe that’s Jim’s only question. 

“A couple commas here and there don’t make no difference,” Bones says. “What are ya, kid?” he adds, narrowing his eyes and examining Jim head to foot, “Sigma Tau Rho? You look like one.” 

“What does that mean, I look like one?” Jim says defensively, looking at his clothes. Was that a frat? Did the Sigma Tau Rhos dress a certain way? 

“No, kid, not your clothes,” Bones tells him. He shoves his laptop and power cord in his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Just _you._ ” 

“I’m not in a frat,” Jim protests. 

“But you’re probably going to be.” 

“Well – ” 

“I hear pledging is in a couple weeks.” 

Bones raises his eyebrows, and leaves Jim behind in the lecture hall. 

*** 

That night at dinner, Pavel and Hikaru come rushing up to him with a flyer in Pavel’s hand. 

“Jim!” Pavel says. “You should pledge with us.” 

“Pledge?” Jim asks, caught off guard. He remembers his conversation with Bones earlier. “What frat are you guys thinking of?” 

“Maybe Chi Beta Phi,” Hikaru shrugs, “or Sigma Tau Rho.” Hikaru had really grown on Jim. He figured Hikaru was mostly shy and playing it off as nonchalant at first, but the more they talked the more animated Hikaru became. He turned out to have a certain amount of dry wit that played an excellent foil to Pavel’s excitable earnestness. 

_Sigma Tau Rho._ That was the one Bones had mentioned, said Jim looked like one. 

“Yes, that one,” Jim says. “Sigma Tau Rho. Let’s do it.” 

Hikaru and Pavel share a look. “Really?” Hikaru asks. “We thought you’d be a lot harder to convince.” 

“No, let’s do it,” Jim says. He takes the flyer from Pavel’s hand, examining the pledging schedule. Pledging started for some fraternities and sororities next week, but two weeks from now for others, and Sigma Tau was part of the later batch. 

“Fantastic!” says Pavel, practically bouncing with excitement. 

_A fraternity,_ Jim thought. _Couldn’t be all bad. Parties, a big group of friends…_ Jim had never considered joining a frat before, but now that he was, he couldn’t find any drawbacks. 

Well, except pledging.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim drags his feet into his dorm room, tosses the tinfoil hat he’s been made to wear on his desk, and slams himself down face-first on his bed. 

“Ugh,” he groans into the sheets. Jim hears Spock turn in his chair to look at him. 

“I take it you had a difficult day,” Spock remarks. 

“That doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it,” Jim says, mouth muffled by mattress. “Pledging is terrible. Who invented pledging?” 

“I believe penalism in medieval Europe was – ” 

“I really didn’t mean literally, Spock,” Jim says, sitting up. “They had us wear these tinfoil hats all day, and we had to serenade one of the sororities and Sulu does _not_ have a great singing voice, especially when he’s singing in your ear. Oh, and tomorrow they’re making us play this game where if any of the senior guys in the frat see you outside your room or class, they make you drink a bottle of Smirnoff in front of them. And they’re making us wear the foil hats _again_ the day after that.” 

Spock’s eyebrows knit slightly. “If the experience is so miserable, why do you participate?” 

Jim frowns at him. “Because you can’t be in the frat unless you do.” 

“But why do you want to be in the fraternity?” 

Jim pauses. “I – I just do, okay? It’ll be fun. Once this part is over, anyway.” 

Spock raises an eyebrow and turns back to his computer. Jim’s pocket vibrates and he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. 

_Scotty._

Scotty is the president of Sigma Tau Rho, a burly senior with a Scottish accent and less than a year left until his engineering degree is finished. He’s good-natured, but expects everyone to be able to hold their liquor as well as he can; that is to say, _extremely_ well. 

The text reads simply, _meeting tonight._ Jim is expected to know what that means, and he does. The frat house, 8:30, bring no one. Hikaru and Pavel will be there, of course, but they’re pledging too. 

It’s the fourth day of pledging, and it won’t be over for a while yet. Tomorrow’s deranged game of alcohol tag was sure to be draining. Jim could be stealthy, but he didn’t know about Hikaru and Pavel. Hikaru could probably hold his own, fencing training and all, but Pavel was just a little computer genius, given mostly to sitting in one place. Though perhaps that would be his strategy. 

To pass the time until dinner, Jim opens his laptop. He has a message from a girl in his stats class, asking if he wants to be in a study group – she’s cute, and her relationship status says single, so he replies, “sure. i’ll be at the next meeting.” 

Then, he’s struck with an idea. He types Uhura’s name in the search bar. 

“Huh,” he says as her name pops up. Turns out Uhura is her last name – first name, Nyota. Single, communications and foreign languages major, 451 friends. Her profile picture is of her and a woman who strongly resembles her, her mother maybe, both dressed formally. Her profile is set to private, and Jim considers the merits and drawbacks of sending her a friend request, but he eventually decides against it. 

Bored already, Jim lies on his back on his bed and puts his ear buds in, playing music loud enough that he’s certain Spock can hear it. He grabs his anatomy textbook out of his back and starts his reading, but promptly falls asleep. 

At 5:15 sharp, Jim’s phone buzzes on the pillow next to his head. Jim pushes the book off his face and checks the message. Hikaru this time, asking if he wants to come to dinner. Dragging himself off the bed and slipping feet into his flip-flops, he grabs his keys and heads down to the dining hall. 

Jim piles rice and chicken curry on his plate in the cafeteria, and then proceeds out to the dining hall. It’s a big space, filled with big round tables, each able to seat maybe ten or twelve people. Pavel waves at him from one near the windows at the back of the room. 

“Did you get the message about the meeting tonight, Jim?” Hikaru asks as Jim sits down with his food. The two of them look ridiculous in their tinfoil hats – not that Jim can pull it off any better. 

“Yeah, I did,” Jim replies, “which reminds me. Any Sigma Taus around?” He stands halfway up and glances around the dining hall. There’s no other tinfoil hats, which means no pledges at least. Pavel and Hikaru glance around, then give him the all clear. 

Jim removes his tin foil hat and leaves it on the table, taking furtive strides back into the cafeteria and slipping into the kitchen. He walks with a purpose, and looks for a roll of foil. There are many of plastic wrap, but it takes him a while to find any foil. He lifts it gently out of the box, glances around for anyone who might have noticed, and slips back out of the kitchen. 

Once back to Pavel and Hikaru, Jim slams the roll of tin foil on the table next to his hat. “I’ve got an idea,” Jim says sinisterly. Hikaru looks nervously at Pavel, who shrugs. 

Half an hour later, their ridiculous tin foil hats have gained horns, and now resemble Viking helmets of scrunched silver. 

“ _Majestic,_ ” Jim proclaims, donning his proudly. 

“Yeah, now all we need is a boat shaped like a dragon,” Hikaru says dryly. Jim narrows his eyes as he considers it, but ultimately dismisses the idea. 

“If we had a horn, that would be ideal,” Jim suggests, “to announce our presence at the meeting today. That would earn us some Brownie points, right?” 

“We don’t have a horn either,” Hikaru reminds him. 

Jim shrugs. “I bet we could make one if we just – ” 

“No,” Hikaru and Pavel say in unison. 

*** 

“Right then,” Scotty says, rubbing hands together, “Let’s get to business.” 

Jim lounges back on the cushions of the couch, his horned tinfoil helmet at a jaunty angle. Hikaru and Pavel sit on either side of him, and the other two pledges – Olson and Riley – sit on the floor at their feet. 

The rest of the frat is sitting on other furniture or standing, and Scotty is their centerpiece. He’s not as big as some of the other guys; some of them are truly huge, football and rugby players with shoulders hunched with muscle tension, guys who just spend a lot of time in the gym. 

The frat house is a large split level, six or seven bedrooms, and constantly smelling of stale alcohol and man. Hikaru wrinkles his nose every time they walk in, and the second they walk out he rants about wanting to air the place out, get the carpets cleaned, maybe use some lemon Pledge on all the surfaces. One day, if they get into this frat, Jim knows he will do it. And Pavel will probably help him, and he’ll try to wrangle Jim into it as well. 

“As you all well know, tomorrow is the _foxhunt,_ ” Scotty says. He motions to the counter, where several packs of Smirnoff Ice in beer-bottle sized bottles are sitting, looking menacing. Jim grimaces and tries not to think about it. Couldn’t they make them do shots instead? Tequila would be better than this. 

“Those things are disgusting,” Riley says. It’s what they’re all thinking. 

“That’s the point, you idiot,” says one of the frat brothers. 

“We need to be clear on the rules, foxes,” Scotty says. “So no one gets hurt.” 

“Do people get hurt?” Hikaru asks. 

“Does alcohol poisoning hurt?” someone says. 

“Anyway,” Scotty continues, “The rules are simple. If any of us see any of you pledges around _anywhere,_ including off-campus, but excluding classes and your own room, you get to drink a whole one of _those._ ” 

The Smirnoff ice watches them intimidatingly. Jim has never seen a bunch of inanimate objects look more like a gang of thugs in his whole life. It’s threatening. 

“You all are underage, so we won’t make you drink in front of professors or similar authority figures, but you _will_ take the drink, or it will accrue interest. If one of us calls you out, you _must_ stop and take the drink, or it will accrue interest. If you don’t finish the drink when you’re asked to finish the drink, it will accrue interest. 

“So let the games begin. Tomorrow, 0800 hours, the hunt is on. Tinfoil hats suspended for tomorrow _only._ ” 

Pavel squirms in his seat and Jim feels Hikaru sink into the cushions. Jim feels the hum of a challenge in his blood, and adjusts the horned tinfoil hat bravely. 

*** 

Morning dawns on the day of the foxhunt, and Jim opens an eye and glances around his room. Spock was still asleep, lying flat on his back with his fingers interlaced over his stomach, the way he always slept. Sunlight streams through the slightly open blinds and bathes the room in yellow. 

Jim is awake before his alarm, but it doesn’t matter. He springs into action. He’s got to make himself as unnoticeable as possible – blend into every other person on this campus. He pulls on some tatty old sweatpants and the sweatshirt he’s got with the college’s name on it (it had belonged to a girl who left it in his room and never asked for it back, but it was unisex and it fit Jim just fine.) If Jim owned any camouflage, he would have considered wearing it, but he didn’t own any camouflage because he would never consider wearing it. He briefly wonders if he should put on some war paint, but decides that would only draw attention. 

He can be stealthy. He can look just like every other college kid on this campus. Normally, Jim wants to stand out, wants to be recognized for the genius he is, but it won’t do today. This is _war._

He texts Hikaru. _hey, do you have anything to eat in your room? dont want to risk the dining hall._

It’s a couple of minutes before his reply comes, _No, don’t have anything, but ask Pavel. He hides food like a squirrel preparing for winter._

Good, maybe Pavel will have some oatmeal or a Pop-tart or something. Jim is starved. Pavel is down on the second floor, so Jim figures he can venture down safely. 

It’s nine in the morning and there are a few people out and about getting ready for classes, but mostly the halls are empty. Jim knocks heavily on the door of room 231, and is startled when a man who looks to be twice Pavel’s size answers the door. 

“What?” says the guy, frowning down at Jim. Jim is not short, but this guy makes him look up. 

“Uhh,” Jim starts, trying to peer around the mountain of person in front of him, “is Pavel here?” 

The guy slides aside, to reveal Pavel watching Jim, bright-eyed, from his desk. “Hello, Jim!” Pavel says. He’s cheery, as always, and still in his pajamas. “What is up?” 

Jim narrows his eyes at the slight incongruence of the way Pavel says “what’s up?” but proceeds into the room anyway. “You got anything for breakfast? Don’t want to risk the dining hall.” 

“I have some granola bars,” Pavel shrugs. He puts a foot on the frame of his bed and folds his hands over his stomach. The mountainous roommate’s bed creaks as he lays back down on it. “And cereal, but no milk.” 

“Granola bar, then,” Jim says, and Pavel opens one of his desk drawers and tosses him the silvery-packaged granola bar. “Thanks. You got stuff for lunch and dinner in here, too?” 

”I have soup and macaroni and cheese,” Pavel answers. He turns back to his laptop and resumes typing. “And popcorn. Do you want to watch a movie? Hikaru should come too.” 

“Anything, as long as it’s out of the sight of the Sigmas,” Jim says darkly. A fine way to breed camaraderie, having the pledges hunted down like dogs and making them drink terrible amounts of terrible alcohol. 

“If they catch you in here, they will make you drink,” Pavel says sadly. Jim knows: not in your own room, not safe. 

Jim straightens nobly and opens the granola bar. Chocolate chip. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he responds. 

“A true American hero,” Pavel says. “Don’t you have class soon?” 

“Not til ten-thirty,” Jim says. 

“I have a code to write, I’m sorry Jim,” Pavel says. 

“Thanks for breakfast,” Jim says, and retreats back to his own room. 

The campus is relatively dead, even at 10:15 AM, and Jim makes it to sociology 

“Did you give up today or something, Kirk?” one of Jim’s classmates asks. Jim glares at him. Granted, Jim would never in any other circumstances wear sweatpants to class, and he was awfully fond of messing with his hair in the mirror until it was exactly perfect, but the whole point was to _blend in_ today, and that meant acting like he didn’t give a shit. Jim Kirk always gave a shit, and he usually tried to look like he didn’t give a shit, but it usually went more in the leather jacket direction than the sweatpants direction. 

“Shut up,” Jim hisses, and the classmate rolls his eyes and turns back to doodling in his notebook. 

“Who can tell me about the looking glass self theory?” their professor says, striding to the center of the lecture space. 

Jim watches his professor’s ass, but thinks of Bones McCoy. Sure, Professor Rand is a perfect female specimen, everything Kirk usually went for in a girl except that he’d never seen her wasted and giggling in someone’s basement. But there was something about Bones that made Jim curious, and made him _want things._ Jim isn’t surprised by his attraction to Bones – he’s had crushes on guys, and he’s been with guys. Besides, Jim kind of likes older guys anyways. What Jim doesn’t understand is why he wants Bones so much. 

The other night, Jim had been feeling particularly lonely (and horny). Spock was out of the room and he really didn’t have the energy to go track down one of those girls down the hall who fluttered their eyelashes and swung their hips a little more whenever they saw him, so he figured he may as well just take care of himself. The first person to come to mind, as Jim took his dick in hand, had been Bones. Jim wondered how it would feel, having Bones’ rough hands running over his skin, feeling the contours of Jim’s muscle and bone, how it would taste kissing him, sucking his cock… 

Jim had come hard, and felt guilty afterwards. But sitting in sociology, sweatpants hiding the half-erection he had, Jim resolved to make his fantasies a reality. Not many people could resist Jim Kirk, and if they could, Jim had certainly not met them. Besides, Bones looked like he could do with a solid fuck anyway, and Jim wanted to give it to him. 

Before he really notices what’s happening, the hour of sociology is finished, and Jim knows his safe haven is no longer safe. He sneaks across campus, back to his dorm, and collapses on his bed the second he gets back. 

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock says, without looking away from his laptop. 

“Ugh,” Jim replies. 

“How is pledging?” 

“Terrible. I feel like a war criminal.” 

Spock doesn’t answer, so Jim figures he doesn’t really care anyway. Jim strips off the sweat shirt – it’s much too hot, but he’ll have to wear it whenever he goes out – and texts Pavel to make sure he’s in his room. 

Pavel is already boiling water for ramen when Jim gets down to his room. “How has your day been?” Pavel asks, “Have you evaded capture so far?” 

“So far,” Jim says, “But the day is young.” 

Pavel nods sagely and pours hot water into bowls of noodles and seasoning. 

Jim intends to continue to evade the fox-hunting Sigmas, and he heads to his next class after lunch, secure in his estimation of his abilities. Jim is 30 yards from McDermott, the building his statistics class is in, and is confident in his stealth, when he notices something he can’t ignore. Uhura, walking the other way with a book held in front of her chest and a sparkly sash across her chest. Jim makes a beeline for her. 

“That’s a nice sash,” Jim says, swaggering up to her, “ _Nyota._ ” 

Uhura smiles an enigmatic smile as she stops. “I never told you my first name.” 

“What do you think Facebook is for?” 

“That’s creepy.” 

“You already hate me. Figured I couldn’t do much damage to our relationship.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Uhura shrugs. “I don’t even know your name.” 

Jim frowns. “Jim Kirk,” he says. 

“Well, Jim Kirk,” Nyota says, “I’m not interested.” 

“I never said I was _interested_ in – ” 

“ _KIRK!!_ ” 

With a painful sinking feeling in his stomach, Jim recognizes one of the Sigmas – a broad-shouldered junior with a penchant for plaid shorts and wearing his baseball cap backwards. He is pointing towards Jim from across the quad and pulling a bottle out of his bag. 

“No! No! I have class in twenty minutes!” Jim shouts, backing away. He can’t run. If he runs, he’ll have to drink more. It keeps him rooted to the spot. 

“On your knee, Kirk,” says the Sigma as he jogs up to Jim. Nyota watches from behind Jim’s soon-to-be brother with a sick kind of glee as Jim grudgingly gets down on one knee. The Sigma opens the Smirnoff bottle and hands it to Jim, who bares his teeth before wrapping his lips around the mouth of the bottle. 

The alcohol is bitter and the citrus taste awful and the vapor burns in his sinuses, but he chugs the whole bottle in an attempt not to think about it. 

“Well done, Jim,” his Sigma brother says, taking the empty bottle from him and patting him on the shoulder. Jim gives a stifled burp before he stands. 

“Damn you,” he says. He takes the guy’s hand – his name is Jeff, Jeff something-or-other, Jim can’t remember. He lifts Jim to his feet and gives him a brotherly squeeze around the shoulders. 

“Have a good class, man,” Jeff says, and then moves off. 

Nyota is grinning wickedly, and it makes Jim sick to his stomach. Or maybe that’s the Smirnoff. “So, you’re pledging, huh?” she says. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“Nothing. The tinfoil hat makes sense now. Have fun in class.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks away. 

“I _will_ have fun in class!” Jim yells after her, ineffectually. He decides to sequester himself in the bathroom of McDermott until his next class. He could even throw up, and no one would ever be the wiser. Cold liquid sloshing in his belly, he makes his way towards his statistics class. 

Statistics is harder but not quite as irritating with a buzz going. He watches his professor scribble on the board and twiddles a pencil in his fingers. He has almost intelligible handwriting – does that say ‘ANOVA’ or ‘anvil’? Jim drops the pencil and his classmates and professor turn to look at him. 

“Sorry,” Jim says, and his professor goes back to lecturing. 

His buzz is mostly gone by the time he gets out of stats, but he’s resolved not to get caught again. He considers lurking in bushes and behind trees, but figures that will get him noticed even faster. Instead, he keeps his head down and makes it back to his dorm for a well-deserved nap. 

He wakes up around five to a text from Hikaru, inviting him down to Pavel’s for dinner. Jim pulls the sweatpants and sweatshirt back on and heads down. 

“Hey,” Hikaru says when Jim walks in. 

“Hey,” Jim says. “How’d it go? They get you?” 

Hikaru gets a far-away look in his eyes. “Twice. Todd’s in my geometry class, and he followed me out of it and made me take a drink. Dirty fucking trick. And then once when I went to the café to get a snack. I was starving, and Jeff cornered me.” 

“Don’t sweat it, man, happens to the best of us,” Jim replies, remembering his own encounter with Jeff. 

“Not to me!” Pavel says proudly. Jim and Hikaru look at him in surprise. “I have not left my room except to pee all day.” 

“Now _that’s_ a dirty trick.” 

Pavel laughs. “Considering that, I will be the one to risk myself to microwave the macaroni and cheese. I will be right back.” 

“I saw them get Olson,” Hikaru says as Pavel trots down the hallway, “two of them, Marcus and that other one that always wears his pants absurdly low. He tried to run, so I bet they made him drink three.” 

Jim grimaces, remembering how awful his had been. 

They watch Batman Begins and part of Hikaru’s favorite zombie movie before Pavel’s mountain roommate comes back to the room and gruffly tells them to keep it down or get out. It’s ten o’clock anyway – they figure they should get back to their rooms and do a little homework anyway. 

“Good night, guys,” Jim says, and leaves Pavel’s room, headed in the opposite direction as Hikaru. 

Jim is almost back to his room when he thinks he hears footsteps. He perks up, looks around, and doesn’t see anyone – but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. It’s after quiet hours, so not a lot of people are prowling the hallway, but Jim can’t take the chance. The foxhunt isn’t over yet. He bolts to his room and throws the door open, then darts inside. 

Jim pokes his head out of the door, and seconds later, Scotty comes around the corner. 

“Jim Kirk,” he says amiably. He pulls something out of his backpack – another bottle of Smirnoff Ice. He advances towards Jim with a deceptively friendly smile. 

Jim panics a little, but knows he’s safe. “Ah, ah, ah, Scotty, I’m in my own room,” Jim reminds him. He motions at his nametag by the door and Scotty stops in front of his doorway. 

“Well,” Scotty says, “So you are.” He’s clearly disappointed. He wonders if Scotty got anyone with the Ice today. Maybe Riley, or Olson. Jim puts it out of his mind. 

“Good night, Scotty,” Jim says. Not putting a toe out of his room, Jim leans forward and claps Scotty on the shoulder. 

“Jim,” comes Spock’s voice from inside the room, “I regret to remind you that it _is_ quiet hours, and that I am trying to sleep. 

With a final grin at Scotty, Jim closes the door, then collapses with his back against it. 

“Jesus H.,” he says, and strips down to his boxers to get in bed. 

*** 

The next day, Jim Kirk swaggers into anatomy with his normal apparel and hairstyle, albeit with the tinfoil hat returned to his brow. It’s at least better than the full sweatpants-and-sweatshirt outfit, and he leans back confidently in his chair. 

Jim doesn’t pay much attention in anatomy, but he does keep his eyes on Bones. His shirt is tight across his shoulders, and when he stretches his arms up to draw a diagram or write some phrase, it shows the muscles of his back and shoulders. Jim spends the class fantasizing about seeing what’s under those slacks of McCoy’s, and about walking up to him after class and sweeping him off his feet and taking him to some empty classroom somewhere and… 

“Alright, dismissed,” Bones says finally, and Jim seizes his chance. As his classmates filter out of the lecture hall, Jim swipes the tinfoil hat off his head and hefts his bag onto one shoulder. 

“Hey,” Jim says, approaching Bones at the front of the room. 

“What’s up, kid?” Bones asks, not looking at Jim. 

“I was just wondering… do you want to, uh,” Jim says, leaning against the podium in what he has always felt is a sexy and confident way, “help me study for anatomy?” He gives Bones the patented Jim Kirk Smirk. 

Bones rolls his eyes. If he caught the innuendo, he shows no sign of it. “If I tutored every undergrad who asked, I’d be stuck in the library with a bunch of teenagers from now til kingdom come. You’ve got a tutoring center on this campus. I suggest you use it.” 

Bones walks out, adjusting the strap of his laptop bag on his shoulder, and leaving Jim frustrated in front of the podium. It was the tinfoil hat, he was convinced. Bones had seen him wearing it all class, taking it off just to talk to him was never going to help. 

*** 

_Meeting tonight,_ is all the text from Scotty says. _They weren’t supposed to have one tonight,_ Jim thinks. _We weren’t supposed to have one until tomorrow night._ At 8:20, Jim dons his tinfoil hat – God, he hates it, _especially_ after today – and meets Pavel and Hikaru in the quad. 

The frat house smells like it always does, and when they enter the living room, all eyes are on them. 

“What’s up, guys?” Jim asks nonchalantly, sensing some tension in the room. What was this meeting for? Did something happen? 

“Kirk, it’s been brought to my attention that you removed your hat in public today,” Scotty says. He folds his arms and smiles, benevolent but wicked at the same time. There is chuckling from the Sigmas, and Jim feels his face grow hot. 

“Who ratted on me!?” Jim exclaims, glancing wildly at everyone in the room. None of them were in his anatomy class, none of them could have seen, unless… 

“It was a good sister of our dear sister sorority,” Scotty shrugs. “Now, you knew the penalty from the start. _Pushups._ Drop and give me three hundred, Kirk.” 

“ _Three hundred?_ ” Jim asks, incredulous. “That’s ridiculous! I’m not – ” 

“You are, or I’ll make Chekov sit on your back while you do _four_ hundred.” 

Grudgingly, Jim kneels, then drops to all fours and then into pushup position. 

“One, two, three,” some of the Sigma Taus chant, counting Jim’s pushups. To their credit, Hikaru and Pavel don’t join in – merely look on in a concerned way. But Olson, on the other hand, _does_ join in, and Kirk makes a mental note to destroy him later – after his arms stop burning. 

Who did this? There was no one in that class that could have… a sister in the Phi Lambdas? Did one of them have something against him? 

Then he remembers – a glittery sash over Uhura’s torso, a bucket of something by the side of her chair. She was _pledging._ She _ratted him out!_

“UHURA!” Jim yells, at 174 pushups, arms shaking beneath him. 

“Smart lad, this one,” Scotty says. 

It takes all the strength he has to finish the pushups, but he finally does, and then collapses on the floor. He rolls over onto his back and sees Pavel and Hikaru standing over him before they reach down and lift him to his feet. Scotty puts the horned tinfoil hat back on Jim’s head and gives him a heavy clap on the shoulder. Pavel runs to the kitchen to get Jim a glass of water. 

“Hope you learned your lesson, lad,” Scotty says. “Now, on to business…” 

_Oh, Uhura will regret this,_ Jim swears to himself. _She’s in for it even more than Olson._ He plans his revenge as his muscles tingle with heat and strain. 

*** 

This is it. Pledging is finally over, and now they stand in the darkened basement of the Sigma house, candles burning at the periphery of their vision and their names written in a big, old book on a table in the center of the room. They stood with hands folded behind their backs, listening. 

“Kirk, Olson, Chekov, Sulu, and Riley,” Scotty was saying, “I hereby pronounce you full-fledged brothers of this chapter of Sigma Tau Rho.” 

The pledges glance at each other, grinning. Two weeks of borderline torture, but it was over now, and they were _in._

“Dues are paid at the end of the month,” Scotty reminds them. “Now, who wants booze?” 

Olson laughs and claps Hikaru on the back. Jim elbows Pavel in the ribs and someone pours shots, which they all take in a bout of raucous yelling. 

Jim can hardly wait for the real fun to begin. 

*** 

When he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t really feel different. He goes to sociology and statistics, and doesn’t really feel much like a frat brother, except for the t-shirt he’s wearing under his jacket. All the pledges agreed to wear them today, so he did. 

At three o’clock, Jim decides to pay a visit. He walks into one of the science buildings and proceeds up the echo-y staircase to the second floor. Bones’ door is open and he sits hunched over their most recent test, eyes flitting from a grading rubric to a student test and back again. There’s a lot of red on the page and Jim prays that isn’t his paper. 

“Hi,” Jim says, standing in the doorway. Bones looks up at him with a scowl, then motions for him to come in. 

“What is it, kid?” he asks. He strikes out another answer on the test in front of him. 

“I just… wanted some homework help,” Jim lies. He doesn’t need homework help. He’s doing just fine in this class – and all his other classes. 

Bones knows it, too. “You don’t need homework help, Jim, you have a 102% in this class.” 

“Well, Uhura has 105%, she told me,” Jim says hotly. He had over a hundred percent, but he’d really been hoping he was doing better than she was. 

“Uhura already turned in her extra credit assignment, and you haven’t yet,” Bones says. “So what is it, really?” 

Jim sits in the other chair in Bones’ office. It’s one of those metal folding things, and not one of the cushioned ones. It looks like he stole it from the gym, and maybe he did. 

“How did you know I was going to be a Sigma Tau?” Jim asks, showing his t-shirt so Bones can clearly read the Greek letters. 

Bones raises an eyebrow. “I was one.” 

Images flit through Jim’s brain of Bones in a tinfoil hat, or drinking vile hard liquors while the seniors look on, or hooking up with some Phi Lambda Tau girl at a party. It was as intoxicating as Scotty’s favorite whiskey, and Jim shifts in his seat. “Really? _You_ were a frat brother?” 

“What’d you think, that I sprung fully formed into a teacher? I had my undergrad days, kid.” 

“Did you ever live in the house?” 

“I lived in that place for two years, disgusting as it was. It’s probably worse now. I was always the one who drew up cleaning schedules. Couldn’t bear the thought of what was on those counters every time I cooked.” 

Jim tries to imagine Bones cooking, but doesn’t get very far into the thought without imagining Bones cooking him breakfast in the morning after they – 

“Look, kid, if you want to stand around and gossip all day, you can’t do it with me,” Bones says, tearing Jim back to reality. “I’m busy. I got a hundred tests to grade still.” 

“What did I get?” Jim asks. Bones thumbs through his completed pile and hands Jim his paper. Circled at the top is _105%._

“There’s your one oh five, kid,” Bones says. 

“Thanks,” Jim replies, and leaves. As he walks back to his dorm room, his thoughts are not on his above-perfect paper, but on the image of dirty, drunk, frat-boy Bones, pinning some person against the wall in the halls of the Sigma house, grabbing their ass with one hand and still holding a bottle of something in the other, until he drains the last of it and guides his partner into one of the rooms. 

“Jim!” someone says, and he’s jerked back to the present – with the beginnings of an erection. He turns to see who it is, and sees his sociology professor. “How’s your day been?” 

“It’s been alright,” Jim says, desperately wanting to get back to his room to take care of the situation developing in his jeans. 

“Congrats on getting into your frat,” she says, nodding at his shirt. 

_Be cool,_ Jim thinks, _and try not to think about Bones kissing your neck and –_ “Thanks,” Jim says. “Pledging was rough, but it’s great to finally be in.” 

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your schoolwork, right?” Rand beams. “Not that I need to tell you that.” 

Jim shrugs. “Thank you.” 

Professor Rand smiles at him once more, and tells him to enjoy the rest of his day before heading off to the west side of campus. Jim prays he doesn’t see anyone else and locks himself in his dorm room with the thought of making out with Bones on that couch in the frat house living room.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim sits on Pavel’s bed, pondering the start of his sociology paper. Jim hates the introduction of papers – he’s much better at the actual meat of the thing. He hates conclusions, too. Why should he waste time trying to say everything he’s already said in the paper again? It’s pointless. 

Pavel is chewing his nails, fingers barely poking out of the sleeves of his overlarge hoodie. Jim watches him, because it’s more interesting than staring at a blank Word document. 

“What are you working on, Pavel?” Jim asks. He doesn’t always understand Pavel’s ramblings about computers, but it’s not his sociology essay. 

“A small program,” Pavel shrugs. “We are supposed to design a game, and I thought it would be interesting to use the Cretan Labyrinth – with the minotaur, _da?_ – as the inspiration. It is proving to be a bigger challenge than I anticipated.” 

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Jim says. 

“Thank you,” Pavel responds. “Oh! Hikaru invited me over to watch a movie tonight. You should come! I think he said he wanted to watch something with zombies. How do you call it? Zombieland.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good, actually,” Jim says. “Good movie.” 

“I have never seen it. His room at eight, I think.” Pavel zips his hoodie up farther and pulls his hands back into the sleeves. 

“Cool,” Jim says. He closes his laptop and tucks it under his arm. “Alright, I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you at dinner.” 

Anatomy is mostly uneventful, but as he packs his things, he sees Uhura at the front of the class, talking to Bones. She’s holding her books that way girls do, with arms folded across her chest, and she flips her hair forward over one shoulder and shifts her weight to her left leg. Flirting. Bones looks unimpressed, both hands on the podium and a vaguely annoyed look on his face. Well, to be fair, he always had that look on his face – this was as close to neutral as he was ever likely to get. 

Jim lingered for a while, packing his things slowly and keeping an eye on them. Eventually, Bones breaks off the conversation and begins to put away his materials. 

“He’s not interested,” Jim hisses at Uhura as she passes by him. 

“He’s not interested in you, either,” Uhura smirks, and flounces out, hair swinging behind her. Jim wouldn’t be so mad if it didn’t appear that she was right. 

Luckily, Jim sees Hikaru ahead of him on the path back to the dorms, and jogs to catch up with him. 

“Hey,” he says as he draws up alongside Hikaru, “we’re watching Zombieland tonight, right? I hope it’s alright if I invite myself, Pavel said you guys were watching a movie and told me I should come.” 

Hikaru, weirdly, goes pale. “ _What?_ ” he says. “No, Jim, you can’t!” 

Jim looks at him quizzically. “Why not?” 

“Because – ” Hikaru starts, face turning bright red – a startling change. “Because – it was supposed to be a _date,_ ” he finishes, sounding thirteen and vulnerable. 

“A date?” Jim asks. Granted, he knew Hikaru liked guys as well as girls, but Jim didn’t know he liked _that_ guy in particular. 

“Yeah,” Hikaru says lamely. “I wanted – I wanted it to just be me and him. So I could tell him how I feel, maybe – I don’t know.” 

Jim studies him with amusement. “Well, he’s a little young, isn’t he?” 

“The age of consent is sixteen!” Hikaru wails. “We’re within three years of age difference! This is not out of the realm of possibility!” 

“Does he even like guys?” 

“Yeah – well, I mean, I think so. He doesn’t really talk about it. I mean, he kind of just shrugs when I talk about guys but he doesn’t say much when I talk about girls either.” 

“What if he’s actually an android and he’s not capable of sexual feelings at all? What if you’re into an alien?” Jim says gleefully. “Well, actually, if anyone on this campus is an alien it’s my roommate, but _the point stands._ ” 

Hikaru frowns at him. “I’m pretty sure Pavel isn’t an alien.” 

“Or an android?” 

“Or an android. I think he’s just… shy about that stuff.” 

“Well,” Jim says, clapping Hikaru on the shoulder roughly, “good luck, man. Seriously. I hope it works out.” 

“Thanks.” There’s silence for a little while as they consider their conversation again. “So,” Hikaru says, “what about you? Interested in anyone?” 

Jim shrugs. There’s plenty of people on this campus, and conceivably he could try for any of them, but the only person that comes to mind is Bones. Jim’s insides squirm a little, but he figures _what the hell, Hikaru is one of my best friends._ “My anatomy TA,” Jim admits. 

Hikaru’s eyes light up and his mouth turns up in a wicked smile. “Hot for teacher?” Hikaru says, voice trilling with amusement. “Got a thing for older guys, Kirk? Damn, let me know if _that_ works out.” 

Jim gives him a shove. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “At least I’m not running off after jailbait.” 

“The age of consent is _sixteen,_ ” Hikaru reminds him heatedly. “At least me and Pavel are _legal._ You’re not supposed to have sex with your instructors. It’s against the academic code.” 

“ _Academic code,_ ” Jim scoffs. “Rules were made to be broken.” 

Hikaru rolls his eyes and Jim grins. 

*** 

Pavel and Hikaru are in Hikaru’s room, watching a movie without him, so Jim goes to the frat house. There’s only a couple of people there, so Jim sequesters himself in one of the rooms upstairs with his homework. It feels better to be with friends, even if they’re not in the same room. He’d rather be here than with Spock, at least. 

Jim wonders how Hikaru and Pavel’s night will go. He imagines Hikaru doing that thing, yawning and stretching his arm over Pavel’s shoulder. He pictures Pavel blushing and asking what Hikaru is doing, and Hikaru withdrawing his arm and stammering some excuse… Jim hopes it works out for the two of them, and not just because it might be a little awkward if Pavel rejects Hikaru. 

Jim gets hungry halfway through his sociology paper and decides to go downstairs for food. As he descends, he can hear someone in the living room, talking with someone on speakerphone. 

“Aw, no, Scotty, I can’t come,” says the voice on the phone. Garbled as it is, Jim recognizes it as Bones. He stays hidden on the stairs where he can’t be seen from the living room, waiting to hear the rest. “Some of my students will be there, and I can’t drink with students, _especially_ if they’re underage.” 

“C’mon, Bonesy, you’re the life of the party whenever ye come,” Scotty pleads. “For old time’s sake, yeah?” 

“I could lose my job, man.” 

“No one’s gonna know! Are ye gonna invite your supervisors? The dean? I didn’t think so! Just come, it’ll be fun.” 

“I’m not coming, Scotty, I can’t. I got papers to grade anyway.” 

“Fine, drink alone in your apartment, you sodding wet blanket. It’s gonna be a rager and you’re gonna miss it.” 

_Bones might come to the party on Friday?_ It makes Jim shiver with excitement. He finishes descending the steps and walks into the kitchen. 

“Hey, Jim,” Scotty says from the couch. Bones doesn’t say anything. Jim raises a hand in greeting to Scotty and digs in the fridge for materials for a sandwich. There’s some turkey of questionable quality, a few slices of bread, and mustard – not the greatest sandwich in the world, but better than nothing. 

“Scotty, I gotta go,” Bones says as Jim spreads mustard on a slice of bread. “I’ve got a meeting with Puri.” 

“Fine, but think about comin’ on Friday. We miss you around here.” 

Jim wonders what Bones looks like dressed for a party, with a beer in hand, or throwing back a shot. Jim rubs the back of his neck and accidentally gets mustard on himself. “Fuck,” he says, wipes his neck with the back of a clean hand, and wipes his hand with a towel. 

“Bye,” Bones says on the phone, and hangs up. 

“You’re inviting Bones?” Jim asks Scotty. 

“You know him?” Scotty asks. “Hey, make me a sandwich, will you?” 

“Yeah, he’s my anatomy instructor,” Jim says. He pulls more bread out of the bag and sets to making Scotty’s sandwich as well. 

“I invited him,” Scotty says, shrugging, “but it’s a gamble whether or not he’ll come. He’s busy with work and classes and his thesis, all that.” 

“And he doesn’t want to drink with students.” 

“Knowin’ Bones McCoy, he’ll drink with pretty much anyone. But yeah, doesn’t want to get caught drinkin’ with minors.” 

Jim piles turkey on his and Scotty’s sandwiches. “Hm,” he says noncommittally. 

“Why are you using that?” Scotty says, motioning at the turkey. “That’s old meat, man.” 

Jim frowns. “I wasn’t exactly going to make a mustard sandwich, dude.” 

Scotty shrugs, and accepts the sandwich when Jim offers it to him. 

Jim is glaring at his sociology essay and considering slamming his head into a wall when Pavel calls. Jim picks up the phone, glad for the distraction. 

“Hey,” Jim answers. 

“Jim,” Pavel says, sounding a little breathless. “Hikaru, he – he kissed me.” 

“Oh?” Jim says. He tries to sound as neutral as possible. Did Pavel consider this good news? 

“It was – he is a good kisser,” Pavel gushes. “We were watching the movie, and he put his arm around my shoulder and I asked him, ‘Hikaru, what are you doing?’ and he said, ‘Pavel, I am interested in you,’ and I thought, _interested in me how?_ But he meant _romantically_ and I said ‘I am interested in you too,’ and he smiled, you know how he smiles, it is a ray of sunshine, and he kissed me.” 

Jim revels in the fact that he was right about Hikaru pulling that lame move. “That’s great, Pavel,” Jim says. “So you had a good time, then?” 

“Yes,” Pavel breathes. “I don’t remember how the movie ended. I will have to watch it again sometime. But yes, it was fantastic, and I want to do it again.” 

“I’m happy for – ” Jim starts to say, before his phone beeps insistently in his ear. “Pavel, I’m getting another call. I’m really happy for you! Bye!” 

“Goodbye!” 

Jim hangs up on Pavel and immediately answers the second call. It’s Hikaru, and he doesn’t bother waiting for Jim to say ‘hello.’ 

“Jim!” he blurts. “Jim, I had to tell you, I kissed Pavel.” 

“Really?” Jim says, trying to act surprised. 

“Yeah! So we were watching the movie, right, and – oh my God, it was so lame, I pretended to yawn and stretch and put my arm around his shoulder, like what is this, a teen comedy? Fuck. I can’t believe he still wants to look at me, that was embarrassing. He was like, ‘what are you doing’ and I said ‘Pavel I’m interested in you’ like, I sounded like Spock, it was awful. It was so horrible, God, Jim, I’m the worst. But he kind of blushed and he said – ” here, Hikaru switches into a very poor imitation of Pavel’s accent, “ – ‘I am interested in you too,’ and I was like ‘oh God really?’ and he said yes and I just _kissed_ him, like, I couldn’t stop myself.” 

“That’s great, man,” Jim says. 

“Yeah. Yeah! So I mean, I want a _relationship_ out of this, you know, and like, I hope he thinks the same way? And I mean, God, he’s cute. Like. Really cute.” 

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Listen, man, I have to finish this sociology paper. I’m glad your night was awesome.” 

“Yeah,” Hikaru says. “Great, thanks man, I just had to talk to someone about it. Thanks. Good luck on your paper!” 

Hikaru hangs up. Jim turns back to his sociology essay with a glare. _Only a paragraph more,_ Jim, he reassures himself, and puts his fingers to the keys. 

*** 

The party on Friday is going strong, and Jim is trying not to be around Bones all night. 

Bones showed up about half an hour after Jim and Hikaru and Pavel arrived. Bones is wearing jeans that really do a lot for his ass and a T-shirt, with his hair pushed back in a way that it usually isn’t. He slouches into the party with his hands in his pockets to the raucous greeting of Scotty and the other seniors. He looks younger, almost, less angry and authoritative – maybe it’s the hair, or maybe it’s being back in the frat house. Jim tries to picture nineteen-year-old Bones, Bones on the cusp of manhood, Bones at Jim’s age. He makes eye contact with Bones across the room for a second before Bones looks away, and Jim opens another beer. 

Jim tries not to be around Bones all night, but it’s difficult. The house isn’t that big, especially when he’s attempting to leave Hikaru and Pavel alone while they kiss and drink and look into each other’s eyes. He talks to a few girls, but decides he isn’t interested in any of them. It all keeps coming back to Bones. 

Bones, who does a round of shots with Jim and Scotty and Riley; Bones, who does a body shot off a particularly inebriated but pretty redhead; Bones, who is drunk, but doesn’t show it. Jim can’t stand it anymore. 

“Bones!” he says, sauntering up to him at the kitchen counter. He’s opening a beer, something Olson brought, too dark for Jim’s taste. 

“Jim,” Bones says. “How are you doin– _God,_ you’re drunk.” 

“ _You’re_ drunk,” Jim counters. “Bones. Man, it’s great that you’re at this party.” 

Bones takes a long drink of his beer. “Is it?” he says when he finishes. “I’m drinking with teenagers.” 

“You’re drinking with your _brothers,_ ” Jim says, motioning expansively to the frat brothers scattered around the room. “Well, and the people they’re hoping to hook up with tonight. Speaking of which… look, d’you wanna go upstairs or something?” 

“What, you mean like, have sex?” Bones ask, raising an eyebrow. He takes another drink of his beer. “I don’t think so.” 

“’M drunk, you’re drunk.” Jim shrugs. “Couldn’t be all bad, could it? I’ve been told I’m a good fuck.” 

Bones frowns. For a moment, Jim expects the worst – Bones saying he’s not into guys, saying he’s disgusted by Jim, screaming about it so the whole room can hear… “Look, kid, I’m flattered, I really am,” he says instead, “But I could lose my job. And that’s the only thing that’s keepin’ me in this school, you got that? I can’t afford this degree without this job.” 

“What, for one fuck?” Jim scoffs. He reaches over and puts a hand on Bones’ shoulder, just where his trapezius muscle ascends into his neck. 

“My superiors findin’ out I’m at this party would be nothin’ compared to what would happen if they found out I was fuckin’ one of my students,” Bones says. He brushes Jim’s hand away and takes a step back. “Under normal circumstances, I would. I really would. But I can’t.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Jim says. It stings, even through the haze of alcohol. He lays a hand on the bottle of vodka on the counter. 

“I’m sorry,” Bones says, watching Jim pour another shot. 

“Look,” Jim says, putting the bottle down with a little too much force. “I could take you up to the bathroom and suck your cock, and we could worry about that whole business with your superiors later. If they ever find out. Shot?” 

“No. Maybe you shouldn’t drink any more, kid.” 

“Is that a no to the shot or to the blowjob?” 

“Both.” 

Jim grimaces and throws the shot back. “Fine,” he says afterwards. “Whatever suits you.” 

He leaves Bones in the kitchen and snakes his way through the crush of people in the frat house living room. He searches for Hikaru and Pavel – they can’t have gone far. 

“Jim!” says someone. He turns, deterred for a second. It’s a girl – what’s her name? From his statistics class – Gaila. She’s all red curls bouncing everywhere, and smiles abound. “Hey, I didn’t realize you’d be here!” 

Jim looks around for Hikaru and Pavel, but doesn’t see them through the groups of people in the room. “This is my frat,” he says to Gaila. He doesn’t really want to be talking to her right now – he wants to be talking to his friends. But she’s drunk, and not letting him leave. 

“You’re a Sigma?” she says. She puts an arm around his shoulders. “What a coincidence. I’m a Philo.” 

“Ah, yeah, that makes us brother and sister,” Jim says, hoping it will put her off. He can feel despair over Bones’ recent rejection creeping into him despite the armor of alcohol, and he wants to complain to his friends. “Look, I’d love to talk, but I have to go find some friends…” Jim slips away from her gently and weaves his way to the couch, where he saw Hikaru and Pavel last. 

Blessedly, they’re still there, Pavel sitting on Hikaru’s lap and drinking the last of something vaguely orange – possibly one of those concoctions he likes of fruit juice and vodka. Hikaru watches Jim as he approaches, stumbling a little. 

“You _guys,_ ” Jim breathes as he approaches, trying to talk over the clamor in the room. “Bones. My anatomy TA. He’s here and I tried to hit on him, and he turned me down, but like… he said… under other circumstances, he would. Like. What does that even _mean?_ ” Jim finishes, looking expectantly at Hikaru and Pavel. 

“You hit on your TA drunk at a frat party?” Hikaru asks. 

“Don’t say it like that,” Jim says, “It sounds stupid when you say it like that.” 

“Well, it was kinda stupid when you did it, so.” 

Jim realizes Hikaru is not nearly drunk enough to sympathize with him, but Pavel is. 

“You know, in Russia, we have a saying for this,” he says. His voice is a little muddled from the alcohol, and his cheeks are pink. 

“Yeah?” 

“Da,” he says, and then something incomprehensible in Russian. Jim frowns at him. “What does it _mean,_ Pavel?” 

Pavel shrugs. “I do not know. I never really understood it myself.” 

“You two are the _worst,_ ” Jim swears. “The worst friends ever. I am having a crisis, and you are _not helping._ ” 

“Well I mean,” Hikaru says. He frees a hand from where it was pinned under Pavel’s back. “How bad was it? I mean like, were you subtle at least?” 

Jim hesitates. “No,” he admits lamely. “I said, ‘I could take you up to the bathroom and suck your cock.’ Or something like that. I don’t remember really clearly. But it was not subtle.” 

Pavel and Hikaru look at him in mild horror. “Dude,” Hikaru says. 

“That is a little…” Pavel starts, but struggles with the word. 

“Uh,” Hikaru says, attempting to pick up for him, “dramatic. _Overbearing._ Slutty.” 

“Thanks, I don’t need a fucking thesaurus,” Jim snaps. “What the hell am I going to do?” 

“Drink more?” Pavel suggests. 

Jim glowers at the two of them. “I thought you would help,” he wails. “You are the least helpful friends ever. I’m getting another drink.” 

“Goodbye!” Pavel yells after him. 

Jim doesn’t feel up to much that night, even though he doesn’t see Bones again. He only has one more drink, and he’s sobering up by the time he finds Gaila again, but when she grins and grabs his dick through his jeans, he feels a little sick. He doesn’t really want this. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, holding her by the shoulders at about half an arm’s length. “I’m too drunk for this. Maybe some other time.” 

The smile fades from her face, but she shrugs. “That’s alright,” she says. She smiles at him again, but less enthusiastically. Guilty all over again, he tries to find Pavel and Hikaru and tell them he’s leaving, but they’re not where they were before and he can’t find them. He texts them instead and walks out into the night air, drastically cooler and less humid than the air inside the frat house. 

He wants nothing more than to sleep and try to forget about the night. It had been a fiasco. Class with Bones this week is going to be unbearable. Dimly, he remembers their conversation and winces. He climbs the stairs of his dorm and pushes his way into his room without much consideration for Spock’s sleep schedule and lets the door slam behind him. 

“Jim,” Spock says in the darkness. 

“I am too drunk for this conversation,” Jim says, and strips down to his boxers to climb in bed. Thankfully Spock refrains from saying anything else. Briefly, Jim feels like throwing up, more from anxiety than intoxication, but he doesn’t. Instead he stays awake until long after the weight of alcohol leaves his limbs. 

*** 

“Today we’re talking about the penis,” Bones says on Monday in class. Jim tries not to let a pained look come onto his face, but he fails miserably. It’s bad enough that Jim can’t forget getting rejected by Bones at the party on Friday (despite how much he drank) without Bones literally talking about dicks. 

“The penis, as I’m sure you’re all aware, is the male sex organ,” Bones says. He sounds thoroughly bored, as if he were trying to make this as dry as possible to minimize giggling and blushing among his students. He goes on and on, using technical terms and motioning to diagrams on the projector. 

Jim can’t handle it. If he has to hear Bones say ‘penis’ one more time in that dispassionate voice, it’s going to creep into his fantasies. He sounds like _Spock,_ for Christ’s sake. That is the absolute last thing he needs to be thinking about while he jerks off. 

Abruptly, Jim stands and grabs his things, and leaves the room. He doesn’t much care what it seems like, at this point, especially because he doesn’t know how long it’ll be before he can look Bones in the eye without hearing himself say, “I could take you up to the bathroom and suck your cock.” 

The campus is sunny, but the wind is cold. It’s mid-October, and the chill of fall has settled in entirely. There’s no one out and about on campus – most people are in class or in their rooms or something. Everything is orange and brown from the turning of the leaves, and the sky is vivid blue above. It feels too nice out for how Jim feels inside. He puts as much distance between himself and Leonard McCoy’s lecture hall as possible. 

He doesn’t go back for the rest of the week. 

By the time Bones’ Friday office hours roll around, Jim is feeling desperately guilty. He might make it seem like he doesn’t care about school (or anything, really), but Jim Kirk never skips class. He wants to graduate in three years with a double major, he can’t exactly afford any slips in his grades. 

Jim walks into Bones’ office, shoulders bowed as low as possible. 

“Jim,” Bones says, as if surprised to see him. 

“Hey, Bones,” Jim says. He tosses his bag under the folding chair just inside Bones’ office and sits on it. Bones puts down his pen and turns to face Jim. 

“Where have you been in class, Jim?” Bones asks. “If you’re absent another day I have to drop you a letter grade, and I know you don’t want that.” 

“Are we done with the unit on penises?” Jim asks, wincing a little. 

“Yes, but if you can’t hear the word penis without skipping class for a week then you’re definitely not mature enough to be coming onto me drunk at a party.” 

_Shit,_ Jim thinks. _I was really hoping not to get called out for that. Anyway, it’s not a maturity issue. Maybe if you made it sound like a more enjoyable subject, I wouldn’t keep thinking about you talking like that in bed. It’s bad enough that I have all these fantasies about you, but it’s really hard to get off when it starts seeming like I’m fantasizing about sex with Spock._ “Sorry,” Jim says. “I’ll be in class.” 

“Good,” Bones says, looking levelly at him. “You’re a smart kid, Kirk, and I don’t want to give you a grade lower than you deserve just because you’re cutting class.” 

It makes Jim feel small, five years old again, cowering up at his stepdad. “Thank you, sir,” Jim says. He feels guilty; for skipping class, for flirting so shamelessly with Bones, for being a stupid teenager who only thinks about himself. 

Bones grimaces. “Aw, don’t call me sir,” he says. “It makes me feel old.” 

“Sorry.” 

Jim stands and grabs his bag from the floor. Bones watches him – which is strange, because usually Bones doesn’t pay him that much attention. He’s always distracted with grading papers or some other work whenever Jim talks to him. But now, he’s got his eyes trained on Jim’s every move. “Have a good day, Jim,” he says, voice softer around the edges than it usually is. 

“Thanks,” Jim says. “You too,” he adds as an afterthought. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Jim trudges across campus, in a thoroughly bad mood. He feels guilty and sad and angry, and most of it is his fault. He desperately hopes that his room is Spock-free. 

It’s worse than he could ever have imagined. 

As he pushes his door open, there is a flutter of motion, and it’s coming from Spock’s side of the room. It’s Uhura, pulling Spock’s sheet up to cover her naked body. Spock is on his back under her, clad only in his boxers. 

“Oh my God,” Jim says, weakly. The image of Spock’s pale skin is searing onto his retinas, and the look of guilt and rage on Nyota’s face is withering. 

“Jim,” Spock says, in that dispassionate way he always does. Nyota is wrapping the sheet around her and glaring at Jim. 

“No,” Jim says, pointedly not looking at them. “No. I didn’t see this. I didn’t see anything. Goodbye.” 

He retreats from his room and heads for the only safe place he has left to him – the frat house. Ideally it will be blessedly full of guys going about manly business, and will not include any pale, skinny roommates and attractive arch-nemeses having sex. Jim throws open the door of the frat house, blindly hoping its familiarity will drive the image of Spock’s pale skin out of his consciousness for now, or forever. Unfortunately, it is not Jim’s day. On the couch are Hikaru and Pavel, shirtless, with Hikaru pawing for Pavel’s belt. 

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” Jim yells, averting his eyes. Roughly, he throws his bag in the corner by the pile of shoes. “There are _rooms_ in this house! Why does everything happen to _me!_ ” 

He storms up the stairs and desperately hopes there’s beer pong being played or maybe a fifth of vodka to be had. 

There isn’t. 

*** 

Midterms are grueling, even for Jim. Pavel spends all his time locked in a computer lab on the far side of campus, and they see him only for ten minutes at meals while he wolfs down his food. Hikaru’s temper gets short and every second he’s thumbing a folded up calendar with every hour of his day planned out. Jim, for his part, finds that there’s nowhere on campus that he can focus, and gives up studying altogether. 

“Hey, Spock,” he says after slamming his statistics textbook shut, “You want to go with me to get something to eat?” 

Spock turns in his chair to observe Jim. “For what purpose?” he says. “The dining hall opens in half an hour, and you customarily eat with your friends, and I eat with Nyota.” 

Jim resists the urge to roll his eyes. “For roommate bonding. We live together and I don’t even know your first name.” 

Spock narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. 

“It will be fun,” Jim wheedles. 

“I have quite a lot of studying to do, Jim,” Spock says warily. 

Jim hops up off his bed, sending pencil and paper sliding across the room. He ignores it. “You study non-stop, all the time. I think you’ll be okay for a couple hours, dude.” 

“Jim – ” 

“ _Spock._ ” 

Spock’s face is stony for a long while, then seems to soften – or maybe Jim just imagined it. Spock turns back to his computer, but says, “Alright. Allow me five minutes.” 

Jim is not certain what he’s gotten himself into, but it’s got to be better than studying all night long. They’re bound to have _some_ fun, or at the very least an unbearably awkward story he can relate to Pavel and Hikaru later. 

_roommate bonding with spock,_ Jim texts Hikaru and Pavel. _won’t be at dinner._ _Tell us what it’s like having your brain slowly liquefied and your soul sucked out so that only a perfectly postured shell remains,_ Hikaru responds. Jim feels this to be rather dramatic, and sends him a reply that merely says, _:o(_

Jim waits, overheating a little in his leather jacket, for Spock to don a knitted hat and scarf, and a long black peacoat. Spock’s mouth is thin with barely concealed annoyance, but Jim decides to ignore it. 

“Where do you want to go?” Jim asks once they’re out on the grounds of campus. It’s cold out, mid-fall chill having crept into everything already, and Jim tucks his hands in his pockets. 

“You did not have a location in mind?” Spock responds. 

“No,” Jim shrugs, “I figured we’d go where you want, since I dragged you out and all.” 

Spock shoots him a sideways glance. Fallen leaves crunch under their feet and skitter on the pavement, only to be caught silently by the grass of the lawns. “I have no preference,” Spock says noncommittally. 

“There’s a good Thai place a couple blocks from here,” Jim says. “That sound good?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. Wait, hold on, come here,” Jim says, pulling Spock to a halt with a hand gripped around his elbow. “Instagram,” Jim says by way of explanation, and takes a photo of the two of them. Spock looks bemused and frustrated, but Jim’s smile is impeccable (as always), so he posts it and tags it with _#roommatebonding._

The Thai place is small, but warm enough for the two of them to take off their jackets. The waitress speaks with a thick Thai accent, Spock gets only a selection of appetizers, and Jim orders his dinner as spicy as they’ll make it. 

“So what’s the deal with you and Uhura?” Jim asks between burning bites of his dinner. “Are you hitting that?” 

“If you mean ‘are we dating,’ then yes,” Spock answers coolly. 

“And how’s that going?” Jim crunches a piece of ice from his water between his teeth and studies Spock’s face, which does not change or betray a single hint of feeling. 

“Adequately.” 

“Adequately? Not ‘excellent’? Not ‘awesome’? Not ‘the sex is fantastic’?” 

“Our status is private.” 

“I should have figured you’d be one of those.” Jim shrugs, and lifts more noodles to his mouth. 

Spock calls across the restaurant to the waitress, saying something in Thai that Jim doesn’t understand. 

“What did you say?” Jim asks, a little surprised. 

“I simply asked her for more tea,” Spock says. 

“You speak Thai?” Jim asks. 

“I speak seven languages,” Spock says. It’s the closest he’s come to a smile, and Jim almost grins himself. “Thai is among them.” 

They finish their dinner and pay, and the last rays of sun are leaking from the horizon. Jim sniffs in the cold wind that chills him through even his jeans and leather jacket. “I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Let’s go to the cemetery.” Spock looks at him, frowning. 

“Why? That is trespassing,” Spock says skeptically. “And it _is_ illegal.” 

“Illegal and _fun,_ ” Jim says. “Come on. No one’s gonna catch us.” 

Spock regards him for a moment, a mixture of curious and furious, then says, “It is not about getting caught, it is about committing a crime.” 

“If a tree commits a victimless crime in the forest and no one’s around to arrest it, did the crime really happen?” Jim says exasperatedly. 

“Your metaphors are slightly mixed.” 

“My metaphors are an elegant mixed drink. The bloody Mary of metaphors.” 

“You are doing it again.” 

“Cemetery. Let’s go.” 

Jim doesn’t hear any more protest, but instead heads off in the direction of the cemetery. He is mildly surprised when Spock actually follows him. Jim doesn’t say anything, knowing that if he did, Spock would undoubtedly say something along the lines of, “I am only accompanying you to make certain you do not get yourself arrested.” Deep down, there’s got to be some part of Spock that thirsts for adventure. That part of Jim is too big to let him think someone else might not have any sense of adventure at all. 

It’s dark as the dead of night when they reach the cemetery, and there aren’t any lights to help them see once on the grounds. The main entrance of the cemetery is blocked by an ornate metal gate, and it would have prevented them had they been in a car, but luckily they are able to duck under the wire fencing and into the wet grass beyond. 

Jim laughs softly with eyes stretched wide open to take in as much light as possible. Behind him, Spock is a dark figure with a pale face, though his expression can’t be made out in the dark. Jim pulls out his phone and activates a flashlight app. 

“There, see?” Jim says, shining the light on Spock’s face. Spock squints against the brightness. “Nothing bad happened. Come on.” 

They make their way from the wet grass onto the paths that wind through the cemetery. When they reach the middle of the graveyard, Jim takes a step onto the grass, then another, advancing towards the rows of gravestones. 

“What are you doing?” Spock asks from the path. 

“Not suspicious, are you, Spock?” Jim says slyly, looking sideways at Spock. 

“No, I am not,” Spock replies flatly. “But I have a suspicion that you are.” 

If Jim is honest, the idea of putting his feet directly over dead bodies _does_ creep him out a little bit. But that’s the entire adventure of the thing. This wouldn’t be any fun if they were just sneaking onto a dark patch of grass. “Whatever,” Jim says, and pads along the rows of headstones, directing the light from his phone on each name. 

The oldest he finds is from 1850, though when he asks Spock later, Spock says he saw one from 1829. Jim soon loses interest in how old the dates are, however – he finds a headstone for one David McCoy. 

“Hey Spock, come look at this,” Jim says, waving him over to the grave. Spock picks his way between headstones to stand next to Jim. He examines the gravestone. 

“David McCoy,” Spock reads. “What is the significance?” 

“My anatomy TA’s last name is McCoy,” Jim shrugs. “Think they’re related? He only died a couple of years ago, at fifty-two, that could be the right age for a twenty-three-year-old son, right?” 

“It is possible,” Spock says skeptically, “But McCoy could be a fairly common last name. There is no indication that this is your TA’s father. You don’t even know if your TA’s father is dead, or if he’d be buried in the cemetery in this college town.” 

Jim frowns. He should’ve brought Hikaru and Pavel here instead. They would have been much more likely to humor him on this. “Yeah, I guess,” Jim says. 

They look at more graves, but all Jim can think about is how to ask Bones about his dead father without sounding insensitive. 

“Car!” Spock shouts. The two of them stifle the light of their phones against their bodies until the headlights pass. 

“You know what I wish?” Jim says after the crisis has passed, “I wish we had a Ouija board.” 

“Ouija boards don’t work,” Spock says. “The indicator is merely moved by unconscious movements of the people participating, not by any kind of spirit – ” 

“You hate fun, don’t you,” Jim says. “Alright, come on, let’s get back to the room. I feel like my fingers are gonna freeze off.” 

They trudge back to campus under the orange streetlights. 

*** 

Midterms are finally, blessedly over. Jim saunters into the Sigma house to find the Halloween party already raging. The theme is “space,” though most people barely tried. There’s someone in a full but cheap-looking astronaut costume, and one girl is wearing nothing but a starry-patterned bikini. Jim spots a head of curly hair and makes a beeline for it, knowing Pavel and Hikaru are already here. 

“What are you supposed to be, Pavel?” Jim says, giving Pavel in his flannel pajamas the once-over. 

Pavel throws his hands in the air. His cup is blessedly empty, otherwise he would have been showering in one of those vodka concoctions he loves so much. “I’m _space!_ ” he insists. The stars and galaxies patterned on his pajamas move and shift as he lowers his arms and slings the arm holding his cup around Hikaru’s shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” Jim corrects him. Really, his own “costume” isn’t much better. It’s only nebula-patterned skinny jeans and a shredded glow-in-the-dark tee. Half-hearted, but his ass looks amazing in the jeans. 

Hikaru folds his arms over his bare chest. The cardboard stars working much like a loincloth over his crotch and butt over tight black underwear is precarious, and Jim has a sudden desire to look anywhere but at him for the rest of the night. “It’s freezing in here,” Hikaru says. It really isn’t, but to be fair, he’s hardly wearing anything at all. 

“Borrow Pavel’s shirt,” Jim says. “He looks warm enough.” 

Pavel giggles – he’s drunk already, and Jim wonders how long he and Hikaru have been here, or if they were somewhere pre-gaming without him. 

“Alright, I’m going to get something to drink,” Jim says. Hikaru nods and he and Pavel head off in the opposite direction of Jim, who wanders off to the kitchen. 

That’s when Jim runs into someone he doesn’t expect. “What are you, Bones?” he asks the man, clad all in black. 

Bones turns to him. “Black hole,” he shrugs. He’s got his own bottle of alcohol, some whiskey Jim has never heard of, and it looks like he’s not willing to share it. To Jim’s surprise, however, he lifts the bottle as if to say, ‘want some?’ Jim holds out a new cup for his first drink of the night, and Bones gives him about two fingers of his whiskey. 

“Thanks,” Jim says, and takes a sip. He almost spits it out – it’s too strong for him, not what he’s used to drinking at all. He swallows it like a champ, though, and nods at Bones. Bones isn’t paying him much attention, scanning the room instead. “So, another party with teenagers? Aren’t you like, twenty-three?” 

“Twenty-four,” Bones says. “Scotty begged.” 

“I don’t _beg,_ ” says Scotty loudly off to Jim’s right. He’s dressed as a rocket ship, though it looks suspiciously like an oddly-colored penis when viewed from afar. When he reaches the two of them, he gives Bones a rough shake by the shoulder. “I _lightly cajole._ ” 

“Where I come from, we call that begging,” Bones says, bottom lip to the mouth of his bottle of whiskey. He takes a sip and shrugs. “Anyway, I’m here, that’s what you wanted, right?” 

Scotty grins and leaves them, bound for one of his many other guests. 

“Where _do_ you come from?” Jim asks Bones, clinging to anything to keep their conversation going. 

“Georgia,” Bones replies, frowning at him. “Didn’t you pay attention first day of class? Had a PowerPoint and everything.” 

“If I’m honest, no. I was too busy thinking about you to pay attention to what you said.” 

“You gotta stop hitting on me at parties, kid. I’m too old for you, anyway.” 

“You’re twenty-four.” 

Bones shakes his head and rolls his eyes. 

“Thanks for the drink, man,” Jim says, lifting his cup in thanks, and turns to find someone else to talk to. Suddenly, Jim remembers the cemetery. 

“What’s your dad’s name?” Jim asks, turning around to face Bones again. 

“David,” Bones says without really thinking about it. “Was. Why the hell do you want to know?” 

“No reason,” Jim says. “I just – no reason.” 

Bones glowers at him, but is quickly interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from one of the senior Sigmas. Bones turns to embrace them and Jim wanders off in earnest. 

The party is much wilder than the last one, and he suspects it’s because of the holiday. Jim dances with a girl with white-blonde hair who says she is dressed as an alien in her sequin dress and a pair of wire antennas poking up from her headband, and with a sleepy-eyed boy whose face may once have been painted green but most of it has wiped off by one means or another. 

In the crush of people, Jim feels a hand squeeze his ass. Normally, Jim wouldn’t mind so much, but he hadn’t been expecting it and he doesn’t know who the hand belongs to. He spins around to find himself staring at Bones. 

“Oh, God, sorry Jim,” Bones says. He’s drunker than before, his hair gone a little limp with sweat from being stuck in the hot house. “I thought you were someone else.” Before Jim has the chance to respond, he’s yelling “Chelsea!” across the room and slipping out of sight between the people around them, until Jim can’t see him or hear him anymore. 

Jim resists the urge to shrink with embarrassment, though he feels like he’s turning into a puddle inside. Bones could reject him all he liked, but he can’t just go around grabbing Jim’s ass and still have plausible deniability. Jim decides to take the night by the reins and goes off in search of someone to make out with. Maybe that will salvage this. 

As luck would have it, he succeeds. Well, maybe not luck. More skill than luck. The girl is cute, with her brown hair done in ringlets that have started to fall flat from the humidity in the house. She’s warm against him as they kiss on the stairs, drinks forgotten somewhere. She laughs when he runs his hands down from her waist to grip her ass. Briefly, Jim opens an eye to scan the room. He catches sight of Bones, who – to Jim’s utter delight – is watching the two of them with a stony look on his face. Bones looks away quickly and Jim smiles triumphantly against the girl’s lips. 

A few minutes later, something buzzes against Jim’s chest. The girl pulls away and pulls her cell phone from between her breasts, stored there in lieu of pockets in her dress. 

“Oh,” she says, biting her bottom lip as she reads the text. “That’s my boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” Jim asks. He’s making sure he heard her right, because he really is _very_ drunk, and she might have said anything, really. 

“Yeah,” she says. “I better go. He’s ready to leave, so… thanks. Sorry.” 

“No problem,” Jim says, waving a hand dismissively. It’s a little cold without her pressed against him, but he soon forgets it. 

“Jim!” Pavel says, waving from the kitchen. Jim nods at him and casts around for some sign of Bones, but he’s nowhere to be found. The party is winding down by now, and the house is really only a third as full as it was when he first got here. He figures there must be plenty of people who are upstairs, or who left to sleep at someone else’s place, or headed back to their own rooms and houses. 

“Pavel, have you seen Bones?” Jim asks as he approaches. Pavel is watching Hikaru pour a round of shots for the three of them, and he looks up at Jim when he speaks. 

“Who is Bones?” says Pavel, looking at him quizzically for a second before his attention flits back to Hikaru. 

“My uh – ” Jim says, only just now remembering that Pavel and Hikaru have never met him, don’t know what he looks like, have never heard him called anything but ‘my anatomy TA’, “My anatomy TA,” Jim finishes lamely. “Never mind.” 

Pavel shrugs and Hikaru hands Jim one of the shot glasses. After their round of shots, Jim turns around after rough tap on the shoulder to find himself looking up at a big, muscled guy with close-cropped hair. Three of his friends stand behind him, sneering and crossing their arms. Jim feels like he’s in a movie. This only happens in movies. Right? 

“Hey,” the guy says. His fingers are clenching and unclenching, the muscles of his forearms flexing. “I heard you were making out with my girl.” 

“Well, I reject the idea of male _ownership_ of women,” Jim says, perhaps a little too haughty for how physically unsteady he feels with a little too much alcohol coursing in his veins. “I’d say she was just doing what she wanted to do.” 

The guy punches him squarely in the face. 

It’s not a good feeling, and Jim flinches against the sudden pain around his eye and cheekbone as he reels. He staggers a few steps backwards before catching his balance again. His heart pounds and his mind suddenly feels much clearer (fight or flight reflexes kicking in, he figures) and he puts himself in a defensive stance before the guy can take another swing. He blocks one blow headed for his face, but doesn’t catch the other one, which slams into his stomach. His back slams against the edge of the counter, shooting sharp pain through his body. 

Jim regroups quickly and gets a quick hit to the guy’s jaw, but the man is much bigger than he is, and he’s got friends looming in the background. The guy grabs him by his shirt and sneers in his face before slamming a fist into Jim’s mouth. He lets Jim fall to the floor, dazed, and shrinking away a little from another blow. 

Suddenly, there’s a person between Jim and his assailant. “ _Back up!_ ” Hikaru yells. Jim lets out a huff of breath, a little blood spraying in fine droplets from his lips. He’s confused. Hikaru never yells. Whatever else happened, no matter how angry Hikaru got, he never ever yelled. It was scary, the sudden and incongruous yelling, and Jim cringed away from it, his face stinging and his ribs hurting and his stomach aching with that hollow, burning feeling of being punched in the gut. Jim’s attacker, to Hikaru’s eternal credit, took two steps back. 

Jim looks at Pavel, who looks back at Jim, incredulous. 

“I’m going to give you five seconds to walk away from here, and I won’t kick your ass so hard you’ll be coughing up your own tailbone,” Hikaru says, yelling again, knuckles white on his clenched fists. He’s half the guy’s size, but Hikaru has hidden depths that obviously not even Jim and Pavel have plumbed. The guy looks confused, as if torn between retreating and beating Hikaru to a pulp. 

Then, he appears to gain some resolve. He takes another step, this time forward, and sneers. “What, you gonna tell me you know karate or something?” He flexes a 

In a second, Hikaru draws the poker out of the holder by the fireplace and swings it low, sending it cracking into the guy’s knee. He yelps and bends to clutch his injured leg, and Hikaru brings the poker down again, this time on his shoulder on the same side of his body. He howls in pain and staggers back. 

Hikaru stands, a determined and angry look on his face, poker held balanced in his hand like a sword, feet apart in a solid stance and a tensed set to his shoulders. He takes a step towards the guy and lifts the poker sword level with his eyes. “Next one is your head,” he says threateningly. 

The fight is no longer winnable or worth it. The guy backs up, and his friends support him as they leave the house, glowering and stumbling with drunkenness or injury, as the case may be. 

“Holy _shit,_ ” says Pavel. Jim laughs, because Pavel doesn’t often swear – not in English, anyway. 

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, pressing a hand to his split lip, “holy shit, Hikaru.” 

“Let’s get you to a hospital,” Hikaru says, frowning at Jim’s injuries. “I think your lip might need stitches.” 

“That was _badass,_ ” Jim comments. Hikaru extends his free hand – the one that’s not clutching the poker still – and pulls Jim to his feet. “Seriously, _do_ you know karate?” 

“Fencing,” he says, resting the point of the poker on his toe. He looks a little wounded. “I told you guys I fence. I’ve said it a lot.” 

“Well, we never figured it would come in handy,” Jim says. He puts a palm to his lip and draws it away again, soaked in his blood. 

“Who is driving to the emergency room?” Pavel asks practically. He’s got a point – they’ve all been drinking. 

“Emergency room?” someone says. Jim should have known. Bones materializes behind Hikaru, making Pavel jump. “Jesus Christ, Jim. That needs stitches.” 

“That’s what I told him,” Hikaru says, stepping aside. Bones takes Jim’s face roughly in hand, turning it first to look at Jim’s lip and then to look at the rapidly blooming black eye on the other side of his face. Bones makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and springs away to find one of the house’s many first aid kits. They soon hear the snapping of rubber gloves and Bones comes back into view, laying the first aid kit out on the counter. 

“You scared the shit out of me, dude,” Jim says to Hikaru, watching Bones unpack the first aid kit. He unrolls a length of string with a grim look on his face. “You _yelled._ It was like I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone.” 

“Well,” Hikaru shrugs, “the less I do it, the scarier it is when it happens. He had it coming anyway. He was kicking your ass, man.” Bones is wiping a needle down with a disinfecting wipe, and pushing the thick black thread through the eye of the curved needle. He grips the needle with a pair of what look like scissors. 

“No he wasn’t,” Jim says defensively. Bones reaches over and runs the disinfecting wipe over Jim’s split lip, making him flinch from the sting. 

Bones makes Jim sit on the counter with his head inclined slightly upwards. “Hold still,” Bones says. Jim holds still. 

“I could have beaten him,” Jim says as Bones wipes away more of his blood. “I’ve been in fights before.” 

“He had like, three friends waiting to beat your ass,” Hikaru counters. 

“Yeah, but – ” 

“I need you to shut the hell up so I can fix you,” Bones says. Jim glowers, but closes his mouth obediently. 

“Oh, good,” Pavel jokes, “finally something that can shut him up.” 

Jim breathes heavily to warn him, and Hikaru continues, “You were getting your ass kicked, dude, and that’s the end of it.” 

Jim wants to argue but can’t with a needle in his lip. Bones’ fingers brush against the skin of Jim’s face, warmer than he thought they’d be. He looks up at Bones, but Bones has his eyes trained on the sutures. He pulls the curved needle through once, then twice, and ties off the end. 

“There,” Bones says, drawing his gloves off with medical cleanliness, pulling them by the wrists and turning them inside out so that the blood from Jim’s lip is contained. “Don’t say I never did you any favors. You kids can’t afford an emergency room visit anyway.” 

“Here,” Bones says. He passes Jim a beer from the cooler. “Put that on your eye. Keep the swelling down.” Jim presses the can to his eye and winces from the cold, but keeps it there like Bones tells him. 

“Thanks,” Jim says. 

Bones looks at him, and it’s not entirely filled with rage. There’s something soft about it, protective – maybe it’s just the alcohol in his system, or in Jim’s. “Don’t mention it, kid,” he says, and leaves. 

“He touched my _face,_ ” Jim says, grinning with the uninjured side of his mouth and letting the eye not covered with a cold beer can droop closed. 

“Well, he is cute, I guess,” Hikaru says. Jim can feel him shrugging, though he can’t see it. 

“He is _amazing,_ ” Jim says. “God. He keeps saying, ‘I would, but you’re my student.’ I’m not _really_ his student, I’m Doctor Puri’s student, he’s just my TA. Why?” 

Jim opens his eyes and sees Pavel and Hikaru watching him. “ _Why?_ ” Jim asks again. 

“Well, you are his student,” Hikaru says. “It’s against academic code.” 

Pavel nods sagely. “Jim, my mother used to tell me, ‘Pasha, in winter the bear catches no fish.’” 

“What does that mean?” Jim says, beleaguered. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.” 

“It means wait for spring semester, you idiot,” Pavel says. “Then you won’t be his student anymore.” 

“I can’t wait that long,” Jim wails. “I want him _now._ ” 

“Whatever, Veruca Salt,” Hikaru says. “Come on, let’s get home.” 

The three of them stagger out of the frat house with Jim’s arm slung over Hikaru’s shoulders for support. The night is clear, and in the dark of the campus, they can see the stars overhead. 


	4. Chapter 4

Jim tries desperately to forget about Bones in the next few weeks, but it doesn’t always work. He hears Pavel’s words ringing in his ears during every anatomy class: “Wait for spring semester, you idiot, then you won’t be his student anymore.” Jim has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss Bones while Bones takes out the stitches in his lip a couple weeks after the fight, but the urge was tempered a little by the scowl of concentration on Bones’ face and the sting in Jim’s lip. In between, he focuses on his classes (albeit for brief periods of time) and on finding someone who can get him a fake ID. Jim tries to get Pavel and Hikaru in on this last scheme, but it only makes Pavel shift nervously from one foot to the other and Hikaru roll his eyes. It’s not like Jim couldn’t get alcohol from any of the guys in the frat, but it’s more the romance of the thing, he supposes. 

Just now, though, the campus is deadly quiet, since everyone has gone home for Thanksgiving break. Jim’s room is even quieter without the whirring of Spock’s laptop and Pavel and Hikaru’s laughter. But staying here was better than going home anyways – he’d rather endure a subdued campus than spend Thanksgiving with his mom and whatever stepfather-to-be she brought around this year. Anything was better than sitting around the dining room table eating his mother’s dry turkey and staring at the empty chairs where Jim’s father and brother should be. Granted, the turkey dinner they’d served in the dining hall the previous night hadn’t been much better, but at least it hadn’t tasted like emotional torment. 

Jim lifts himself from his bed and snatches up his wallet. There’s a little bar a couple blocks from campus, and if he can get away with his fake anywhere, it’s probably there. Tonight’s as good a night as any to try it out, especially since Hikaru and Pavel couldn’t have come with him anyway. 

Jim trudges through the dark, empty campus with his hands in his pockets, stepping here and there on piles of slush left over from the light snow a couple of days ago. His breath mists in front of him and he blows it in the direction of the streetlights to watch it curl and twist. 

He walks into the bar brimming with projected confidence, hoping it will help him avoid getting carded. There’s a few people in the bar already – a small group of guys in one of the farther booths, a girl who looks to be waiting for someone sitting at one of the tables, and a dark-haired man hunched over a beer at the bar. It’s not until he gets closer that he realizes who this man is. 

“Bones?” Jim says. 

Bones practically does a double take over a sip of his beer. “Jim?” he says, once he’s swallowed. 

“Hey,” says Jim as he perches on the stool next to Bones’. 

“Aren’t you underage?” Bones says in a whisper. 

“Never concerned you at the frat house,” Jim shrugs. 

“How did you know I was drinking here?” Bones asks, thumb tracing a line in the condensation near the base of his glass. 

“I didn’t,” Jim says. He sits on the stool next to Bones’. “Lucky coincidence. Rolling Rock?” he adds, to the bartender. 

“ID?” the man says back. Jim digs in his wallet for the fake, and hands it to the bartender. He examines it, then hands it back, and moves away to get Jim’s drink. 

“I could have you thrown out,” Bones says, but Jim can tell he doesn’t really mean it. 

Jim doesn’t waste a lot of time on his beer, but Bones is nursing his slowly. When Jim sets his empty bottle on the bar, Bones has hardly finished half his glass, and it hadn’t been full when Jim had come in. 

Jim waves the bartender over. “I’ll have what he’s having,” Jim says, motioning to the half-finished beer in front of Bones. Bones rolls his eyes and knocks back half of what’s left in his glass. 

The bartender brings the glass, frothy on top and dark, much darker than what Jim usually drinks. Jim takes a cautious sip. “Mm,” he says, trying not to make a face. It’s too dark, too bitter for him, but he can’t let Bones know that. He’s probably one of those guys who’s picky about his beer, looks down on other guys for what they drink. Jim doesn’t even know what exactly he’s drinking – he never asked the name. Maybe he shouldn’t have even ordered that Rolling Rock in front of Bones. Really, he shouldn’t even be here, Bones knows he’s underage – 

Bones finishes his beer and stands from his seat. “Well, nice seein’ ya, kid,” he says. He pats Jim on the back, and nods at the beer in Jim’s hand. “Enjoy that.” 

Jim resists the urge to frown. “You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah, I’m leaving, I’ve been here for hours. Besides,” he says, bending to talk in Jim’s ear and lowering his voice so that only Jim can hear, “who wants to drink somewhere teenagers hang out?” He gives Jim’s back another heavy slap and walks out, leaving Jim with a beer he doesn’t want and a bad mood he doesn’t need. 

There’s a girl across the bar, drinking some concoction that looks too sweet. Jim decides to make the best of a bad situation, and stands from the bar, taking his beer with him as he swaggers up to her. 

“Hey,” he says. “Mind if I…?” He motions to the chair across the table from her. 

“Hey,” she says, and then, “Go ahead.” 

What feels like seconds later, Jim has her back pressed up against the wall in one of the stalls of the women’s bathroom, hands on her waist and hers in his hair, kissing her desperately and wildly. She giggles into his mouth and snakes a hand between them to grab Jim’s dick. 

Jim isn’t thinking of her. He’s thinking of Bones, shoulders sloped as he frowns into his beer, or the way he stands in class, putting his feet far apart and folding his arms and his shoulders back. He thinks of Bones, naked and shining in sweat, gripping at Jim’s hair the same way this girl is doing now while Jim sucks his cock. He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t – 

“No,” Jim says, breaking away from the girl’s kiss, pushing her away by the waist and putting a little distance between himself and her. “I can’t do this.” 

She frowns. “Why not?” 

“I don’t, uh – I don’t want to talk about it,” Jim says. He moves his head away from her hands, and she drops them to his shoulders. He steps back as much as the cramped bathroom stall will let him, and fumbles with the lock on the stall door. “Sorry. Uh, have a good night.” 

He retreats from the bathroom before she has the chance to argue, and he leaves more money than he owes on the bar as he sweeps out. 

The air is cold, the late November chill already beginning to feel like December. Jim wishes he’d brought a jacket, but he hadn’t. He trudges the blocks back to campus with a pang in his heart. That had never happened to him before. He’d never not been able to go through with something like that, and why couldn’t he have stayed with her, at least let the night not turn out so thoroughly disappointing? The thought of accidentally moaning _Bones_ while he had sex with that girl makes bile rise in his throat. 

The campus and his room are blessedly empty, perfect for sulking through the haze of booze. He locks the door soundly and collapses onto his bed. This is not where he wanted to be tonight. Jim grabs his pillow and covers his head with it, resolving to let the taste of Bones’ beer in the back of his throat occupy his mind for a while. 

He just can’t stop thinking about _Bones._ Before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed his phone and opened a new e-mail. 

_Bones, I cabt stop thinkign about you. We should hook up. I don’t care if yyou just want to fuck or whatever_

Jim doesn’t bother to spell-check it before sending it off to Bones. He feels pretty good about it, really. Like telling a secret he’s been keeping for months. 

Moments later, his phone buzzes – a new e-mail. 

_This is inappropriate._ Signature: _Leonard McCoy, Bachelors of Biology_

Jim snorts. _So?_ , he replies. 

After this e-mail is sent, however, Jim is starting to realize just what he’s done. _Fuck,_ Jim thinks over and over again in the next twenty minutes, and falls asleep without another e-mail from Bones. 

* * * 

Jim’s heart nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand grabs him by the elbow after anatomy and a gruff voice says, “Walk with me, Kirk.” 

He swallows against a lump in his throat. Bones doesn’t call him ‘Kirk.’ It’s always been ‘Jim.’ Jim scurries after Bones as he strides from the lecture hall. 

“What’s up?” Jim asks, trying to mask his nervousness behind a wall of bravado. 

Bones leads him down the path without a word until they reach a spot moderately secluded and surrounded by bushes. Bones looks around to make sure no one else is coming up the path, then hisses, “I’m not your ex.” 

“What?” Jim asks. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

“You can’t drunk text me on a Friday night and pretend like there’s a shot of me being your booty call,” Bones continues, scowling. 

Jim winces. “You’re not a _booty call,_ ” he protests. “I – ” 

“That ain’t the point,” Bones interrupts. “You’re my student, kid. It’s not going to happen.” 

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Jim stammers. He feels like a child, apologizing for breaking something important. 

Bones is still frowning. “You’ve been after me all semester. Stop wasting your time on me and go be a normal college kid. Study for your finals. Leave me alone.” 

Jim’s heart feels like it’s crashing around in his ribcage, and he desperately wishes to melt into the cracks in the pavement. Bones turns and walks away towards the building where his office is. Jim is almost run over by a bicycle as he stands staring dumbly after him, but it feels like he’s been hit by a truck. 

* * * 

Jim lays awake for hours that night, listening to Spock’s steady breathing and the rain outside. He studied all afternoon and all evening, like Bones told him to, but mostly to take his mind off what Bones told him to do. _Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone._

“Jim Kirk, studying?” Hikaru had said when he saw Jim in the commons with a pile of textbooks. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Jim?” Pavel comments. 

“That was lame, dude,” Hikaru says to Pavel, “You need to stop watching so much Full House.” Jim isn’t listening. _Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone._ It keeps echoing in his mind. 

“What happened?” Hikaru asks, hours later, when Jim hasn’t moved except to switch textbooks. 

“He told me to leave him alone,” Jim says hollowly. 

“Your anatomy TA?” Pavel asks. Jim nods, wilting. “Maybe he will soften over the break.” 

Jim kind of doubts it. 

The e-mail Jim receives minutes after he falls asleep says, _I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I hope I see you next semester._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while since the last update - real life got in the way. hopefully the next (and final) chapter won't be too long in coming!


	5. Chapter 5

CH 5

Come spring semester, Jim finds himself in Bones’ office once again.

He’s long since gotten over his bruised ego. “Wait for spring semester, idiot, then you won’t be his student anymore.” That’s what Pavel had said. It was certainly an attractive prospect, knowing they wouldn’t even be breaking academic code if they were to hook up. Maybe that would remove a few of Bones’ reservations.

“What do you need, Jim?” Bones asks. He’s looking up at Jim where he stands in the doorway, Bones in his chair at his desk. “You’re not my student anymore.”

Jim can’t stop a smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Bones says. Jim remembers Bones telling him to _leave me alone_ and for a second, thinks he’s most likely going to refuse. But there’s a shot. There’s a shot, and if there is one, Jim will take it.

“I want to go on a date,” Jim says. “A real one. Not just, you know, me asking to suck you off at a party and then you grabbing my ass at the next one. A date.”

Bones looks at him levelly. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

Jim Kirk has been called a brat many times in his life, but it never sounded more like a compliment than when it came from Bones’ mouth. “Yeah, I know. How about that date?”

Bones studies him, eyebrows knitted, eyes looking over every inch of Jim’s face and body, looking for some weakness in his resolve. Jim smiles placidly, and then Bones wilts a little.

“Alright,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’ll pick you up tonight at 8. Where do you live?”

“Clark Hall.”

“God, you’re young. Jesus Christ I can’t believe I’m doing this… give me your number so I can text you when I get there.”

Jim shrugs. “It’s already in your phone.”

“It’s _what?_ ”

“I figured you might need it.” Jim resists the urge to wink lewdly, figuring it might not help in this situation.

Bones looks as though he’s upset for a second, then shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. Tonight, eight o’clock.”

“Sounds good,” Jim says, and he strolls out of Bones’ office and down the hall, whistling tunelessly.

The trick with the phone number had been a good call. He’d done it last semester, fiddling with Bones’ phone while Bones riffled through papers, slipping it back onto his desk before he was any the wiser. Well, to hell with all the self-praise for a move like that; the real accomplishment was getting Bones to agree to a date. He’ll have to make sure his hair looks extra good tonight.

 

***

 

The date is good, but what comes after is better. They’d spent the whole date talking, which Jim supposes is what you do on dates – not that he’s been on many. He’s hooked up with people, but usually the circumstances precluding the hookups didn’t involve what anyone would really call a “date”. Bones asks Jim what he wants to do in the future, after he graduates, and Jim mostly shrugs and says he’ll figure it out. He’s only a freshman, after all. Bones says not to remind him that he’s so young.

Afterwards, after Bones has paid the bill – insisting, really, on paying it, since Jim is a broke college undergrad and Bones at least has a _job_ – they stand in the cold of the night air in front of the restaurant. It’s still late winter, and the air cuts like knives with its chill. Jim stands with his hands in his pockets.

“It was fun,” Jim says.

“I suppose it was,” Bones says.

There’s silence for a moment, and they both look at each other. Jim can feel the tension pulling at him, and he isn’t sure how long he can resist – but he doesn’t have to. Without much warning, Bones steps forward, takes Jim’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

The kiss is strong and tense and most of all, warm. Bones’ hands are hot even though it’s freezing, and his touch feels good on Jim’s cheeks, which are ice cold and raw from the icy wind. Jim moves his head slightly, to get a better angle, to suck at Bones’ lips a little. Bones parts his lips and Jim follows his lead, letting their tongues meet. Jim’s heart beats fast in his chest, a mixture of arousal, exhilaration, and triumph. When Bones pulls away – and he does pull away first, much to Jim’s dismay – it’s with a satisfying smooching sound.

“My place,” Bones says.

“Good idea,” Jim replies, nodding his head.

Bones’ car is parallel parked less than a block away, and the two of them climb into it with a feeling of purpose. Bones starts the car, letting it rumble to life, and zips off headed west, towards the more residential part of town.

Bones drives in a way that couldn’t be described as “reckless,” but “smooth” would not be the word, either. If Jim got motion sick, Bones’ driving would certainly set him off.

“You resisted for a really long time,” Jim says. “Fortitude.”

“You were my student,” Bones says. “Still kind of are.”

“Not really.”

Bones gives him a look. “Former student.”

“And frat brother. And sexual prospect. Romantic prospect? We can define the relationship later.”

Bones shakes his head, gives a long-suffering sigh. The town is small, and his place can’t be far away.

Jim is right. It only takes five minutes total to reach a complex of apartment buildings. They aren’t terrible, and they look well-kept. At least the place isn’t run-down. Jim slams the car door shut behind him and follows Bones to a door on the second floor. Bones unlocks the door, pushes it open, and guides Jim through it with a hand on the small of his back. He spins Jim around and slams him against the nearest wall, kicking the door shut behind them. “Ow,” Jim mumbles against Bones’ mouth, which is very suddenly on Jim’s own. Bones shoves hot hands under Jim’s shirt, fingers playing around his waist and ribs. Jim wraps his arms around Bones’ neck, pressing him closer. Bones shoves a knee between Jim’s legs. Ah, so he plays rough. Jim shouldn’t have expected any less.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Bones says, breath hot on Jim’s neck. “Do you know how much I thought about whether or not it would be worth it to get caught with you?” He kisses at Jim’s collarbone and Jim adjusts his wrists under Bones’ tight grip. “You’re a little shit, anyone ever told you that?”

“You literally wouldn’t believe how many times,” Jim says. He wriggles a little bit, trying to get more contact between Bones’ knee and his genitals, desperate for a little friction.

Bones leans down and kisses Jim hard, moaning low in his throat.

Bones’ place is dark with all the lights off, and as occupied as they are, Jim supposes he’s not going to see what it looks like until the morning. Bones pushes his hands up farther, meaning to take off Jim’s shirt. Jim raises his arms to allow it.

Bones lets out an amused huff of laughter, looking at Jim’s bare torso. “Youth,” he muses. “I bet you don’t even have to work out much for that body.”

“You’re _twenty-four_ ,” Jim retorts. “Stop pretending like you’re an old man.”

“I’m an old soul, Jim,” Bones defends. He leads Jim down the very short hall to his bedroom, kissing him every few steps.

It’s not until they reach the bedroom and Bones has Jim flat on his back on the bed that the rest of the clothes start to come off. They end up left in a rough pile by the bed, and Jim can already feel his cock growing hard by the time Bones is on his hands and knees above him, both of them naked.

“Mm,” Jim says, admiring the view. He’s thought about this a lot when he jacks off, Bones above him and giving him just that _exact_ look, aroused and determined and angry. “Fuck me.”

“I plan on it,” Bones says in response. He stretches to reach for the top drawer of his nightstand, and pulls out a bottle of lube. Jim beams at it, and at Bones, watching as he squeezes a little of it onto his fingers.

Bones pushes Jim’s legs up against his chest, making it much easier for him to reach down and push into him, one finger at first, then two. The feeling of it makes all this seem real, so Jim knows it’s happening, not just another fantasy. He pushes his hips closer to Bones’ touch, trying to get him in deeper.

“Greedy,” Bones comments.

“You know it,” Jim responds.

Bones’ fingers twist a little inside him, reaching for something. He finds it. Bones’ fingers brush Jim’s prostate and make him cry out. In the wake of it, Jim laughs a little, exhilarated.

“Do that _again_ ,” Jim says. “Please.” He’s not above begging.

Bones obliges him. He fingers him for a while, making sure to pay special attention to those spots deep inside him, now and then spreading his fingers apart to stretch Jim open wider.

“Hands and knees when I fuck you,” Bones says bluntly. Jim grins broadly, letting his teeth show in the darkness. Bones pulls out his fingers and Jim positions himself on all fours.

Bones takes a minute to put a condom on, and in that time, Jim finds himself impatient for more of Bones’ touch. How long can it take to roll on a piece of rubber? It hasn’t even been that long, less than ten seconds, maybe, but Jim wants to be fucked _now_.

“Ready?” Bones asks. The tip of his cock rests against Jim’s ass and Jim feels his heartbeat in his throat, thumping fast with anticipation.

“ _Born_ ready.”

Bones pushes into him slow, like he’s trying to make Jim feel every inch. Well, it’s working. Jim lets out little whimpering moans, not very dignified, but definitely an expression of how good it all feels. He lets out a satisfied sigh as Bones finally sinks all the way into him. You just don’t get this kind of full feeling when you’ve only got fingers in you, whether your own or someone else’s. Bones’ first few strokes are long and slow, tantalizing but not enough.

“Bones, you’re not gonna _break me_ , Jesus Christ,” Jim says. “ _Harder_.”

Bones taps into that rage he’s always displayed, and he slams into Jim once, twice, three times. It’s enough to make Jim cry out and let his back bend, rolling his neck then letting his head hang limp. Bones’ fingers dig into Jim’s shoulder, his trapezius muscle and the spine of his scapula, and his other hand rests fingers on Jim’s hip bone, just enough pressure to keep Jim firmly in place. “Yeah,” Jim moans, and Bones bends down and presses his lips to Jim’s back. He scrapes his teeth against the skin just enough to raise goose bumps on Jim’s flesh and make him grip at the sheets.

For a little while the only sounds are Bones’ breath and Jim’s constant stream of obscenities and moans.

“You never fucking shut up, do you?” Bones grumbles after a bit, but good-naturedly. He’s smiling a little, and his breath huffs through his teeth from exertion.

“No, I don’t,” Jim says, grinning, “ahhh, fuck. Harder, fuck. Yeah…”

Bones keeps a steady pace, fucking him hard and deep. Jim can’t resist lifting a hand to touch his own cock. He strokes a little, pumping his fist around it – when he remembers to, preoccupied as he is with feeling Bones inside him.

“What were you like as a frat boy, Bones?” Jim asks, looking back at Bones. “Did you bring guys like me back from parties?”

“Guys, girls,” Bones shrugs. He thrusts into Jim a bit deeper, and Jim throws his head back with a whimper of pleasure. “You like that?”

“Uhn,” Jim says by way of agreement. “Fuck… Can’t imagine you pledging… I’ve tried, you know.”

“Why?”

Jim smiles. “Like the image of you with your hat turned backwards and one of those stupid polos Scotty always wears. Ahh, fuck. Just a fantasy about you taking me back to your dorm room and – ah, fuck! _Yeah… –_ and fucking me until I can’t walk. Oh, yeahyeahyeah, _fuck_ , right there – ”

“You got a lot of fantasies, don’t you, kid?” Bones says. Jim’s arms and legs are wobbling underneath him as Bones thrusts into him again and again.

“We don’t have to talk about your younger days,” Jim says cheekily, turning his head to face Bones, “ _Mr._ McCoy.” He flutters his eyelashes at Bones, who rolls his eyes so hard Jim could swear they were about to roll back into his head. Or they would, if they weren’t held in place by those muscles Bones had spent drilling into Jim’s brain – superior and inferior oblique; superior, inferior, lateral and medial rectus; superior levator. “Fuck. Shit. Yeah, that’s good…”

“Shut up,” Bones says. His fingers press into the flesh of Jim’s ass. The pressure hurts a little, but Jim grinds back into it, desperate for a little more.

“What if I called you _doctor_ instead?” Jim says. “ _Doctor_ McCoy.”

Something in Bones melts a little, and he loops an arm under Jim’s and pulls him upright so that Jim’s back is pressed flush to Bones’ chest. Bones kisses roughly at Jim’s neck and reaches around to grip Jim’s cock. Jim laughs a little between gasps.

“Fuck,” he pants, “Fuck me, Doctor McCoy. Oh, _oh…_ I’m gonna…”

Abruptly, Bones pulls out of Jim, who makes a small, confused noise. “You wanna come, Jim?” Bones asks.

“Yes?” Jim says, confused at the change.

Bones turns him and lays him on his back on the bed. The shift from having Bones’ cock in him to not having it is jarring, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it. Kneeling between Jim’s legs, Bones bends and takes Jim’s cock in his mouth, working his tongue around the head and underside.

“Ohh.”

Bones makes a low noise around Jim’s dick, then slips his right hand down between the cheeks of Jim’s ass and inserts two fingers into Jim. It’s easier than the first time, relaxed as he is from being fucked. Jim grips the sheets of the bed tightly, twisting them tightly around his hands, and he lays his head back and moans. “Doctor,” he calls, trying not to let his hips buck up. Bones works his fingers inside Jim, stroking and moving them in and out. “To the right, to the right – aaahh…”

It’s another minute or so before Jim comes, but when he does, it’s with a weak whimper that leaves him speechless afterwards. Bones swallows Jim’s cum around his cock, tongue brushing the sensitive skin as he does so. He sits up, looking at Jim’s face, which is flushed and a little shiny with sweat. Bones strokes Jim’s cock near the base and withdraws his fingers.

Jim’s muscles have gone limp but he’s found his voice again. “Damn,” Jim says. He lifts his head to look at Bones. Bones wipes a little of Jim’s cum from the corner of his mouth. “Better than I ever imagined.”

Bones shrugs. Jim props himself up on his elbows, then sits up. Bones has his own dick in hand, so Jim reaches forward and takes it for him, stroking firmly.

“Your turn,” Jim says, grinning wickedly. “I’ll ride you.”

Bones kisses him and Jim maneuvers them so that Bones is flat on his back, then straddles him. “Hand me the lube,” Jim says, and Bones snatches it off the nightstand. Jim lubricates Bones’ dick and his own hole, letting the tip of Bones’ cock rest against it. He sits back, bracing himself with hands on his thighs, letting Bones enter him slowly. Jim makes a small noise and smiles down at Bones. Jim rocks his hips and licks his lips.

“Jesus,” Bones says. His hands reach up and grip Jim by the hips, steadying him and pulling him closer. Jim moans, his still-sensitive cock rubbing against Bones’ stomach as he rides him.

“Yeah, you can say it,” Jim says, a little breathlessly, “I look good riding your dick, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Bones breathes. Jim laughs.

“I know,” Jim says. He moans as Bones begins to thrust in time with Jim’s rhythm. They lapse into speechlessness once again, only Bones’ breathing and Jim’s moaning and obscenities filling the room.

Bones shuts his eyes several times, letting himself feel the whole sensation of Jim on his cock. When he does, though, Jim reaches down and touches his face or neck or chest, reminding him to open his eyes, to watch Jim while he rides him. It’s better when he watches, Jim thinks. It makes it feel like more of an accomplishment.

It’s not only for Bones, though. Though Bones is moaning under him, Jim can feel himself getting close again.

“Bones!” he gasps, “Ah, uhh, yeah… I’m coming…”

“Again?” Bones asks with a wry smile.

“Ahh, fuck… Well, you can hardly blame me. You’re – ah – good at what you do. Uhh. Yeah, fuck me…”

Bones reaches between them and rubs Jim’s cock. Jim forces himself against Bones’ hand as he rocks his hips, clinging onto Bones hips for stability. His cock is still a little oversensitive, but through the slight pain of it, it feels intensely good. He soon climaxes a second time, cum spilling onto Bones’ stomach.

The sight of Jim’s chest heaving and cock twitching and the feel of Jim tightening around him in his orgasm is just enough to set Bones over the edge; he comes with a low groan, back arching for a moment before his muscles relax. Jim gives a few more thrusts of his hips, but he’s spent, exhausted from a second release.

“Ahh,” Jim says, reacting to the strange feeling of Bones’ cock falling out of him when he sits up.

“Fuck,” Bones says. He says it like he doesn’t have any other words at all. Jim laughs. After a few seconds, Bones shifts to prop himself up on his elbows, then sits up. He reaches around behind Jim so he can pull the used condom off. He ties it and drops it in the trash can by the head of his bed.

Jim’s muscles are exhausted, and he finally lets himself relax, plopping down on the bed next to Bones. They both lie there, looking up at the ceiling. Their bodies are overheated, and they touch only at a few small points; their forearms together and Jim’s knee pushes against Bones’ thigh.

Jim huffs out a long, satisfied breath. “Naming all the bones in the human body wasn’t the only way you got your nickname, was it?”

“It was, actually,” Bones counters, “But thanks for the compliment. Good as you imagined?”

“Better,” Jim replies.

“You’re disgusting, you know,” Bones tells him. “Jacking off, thinking of me.”

“Do you really hate it?” Jim asks.

“No. It’s hot, actually. Flattering, at least.”

Jim grins at the ceiling. It’s another accomplishment, getting Bones to say that, another item in a list of them that includes getting Bones to agree to a date, getting him to kiss him, to fuck him. Jim deserves a medal of honor for this, he thinks.

“So,” Jim says. “You gonna let me stay the night?”

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” Bones says, glaring over at Jim.

“That’s not an answer.”

“…Yeah. You can stay.”

And that feels like yet another victory to add to Jim Kirk’s list.

 

***

 

The next morning, Jim wakes before Bones does. He has to piss, and it’s that feeling that drags him out of Bones’ bed instead of just staying where he is – which is cuddled up close to Bones, Bones’ arm pinned beneath Jim’s neck on the pillow. It’s practically romantic.

Jim slips from Bones’ light, sleeping hold and stands from the bed. Bones’ shirt from last night is lying there, looking so inviting. He picks it up and puts it on, only bothering to do up a few buttons, near his navel. He heads down the hall to the bathroom, stretching as he goes.

Afterwards, Jim gets the urge to _brag_. It’s one he can never resist. He grabs his phone from where it was still in the pocket of his pants from last night, and heads out to Bones’ small kitchen. There’s a sliding glass door and a concrete balcony enclosed by white-painted metal railing just off the kitchen. Jim steps out onto it and flips through his contacts quickly.

Jim holds the phone to his ear, letting it ring. He might not pick up, early as it is in the morning – by Jim’s standards, at least – but Jim will leave a message if he doesn’t.

On the fifth ring, there’s the static sound of the phone having been answered. “Hello?” says Hikaru’s foggy voice on the other end of the line.

“Hikaru! You’re never going to guess where I am,” Jim gushes.

“No, I probably won’t,” Hikaru says. “But it’s probably something to do with where you were last night. Uh, what was that, again?”

“My TA, my anatomy TA from last semester,” Jim reminds him. “We had a date last night. _Guess where I am now_.”

“…At his place?” Hikaru says, the realization dawning on him.

“You bet your _sweet ass_ ,” Jim says, preening. “And it was _good_. Like, really.”

“No way,” Hikaru says. “No _way_.”

“Way,” Jim says simply.

“Who are you talking to?” Bones says. Jim hadn’t realized he was awake and moving. Jim glances behind himself into the kitchen. Bones is wearing boxers (though Jim wishes he wasn’t) and looking at Jim from the kitchen with a frown on his face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim says to Bones. Then, to Hikaru, “Gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“Hang on, Jim – ” Hikaru starts to say, but Jim hangs up before he gets any farther.

Jim turns and walks back into the apartment from the balcony. He leaves his phone on the small kitchen table and turns to Bones. “Good morning,” he says, grabbing Bones by the hips and turning him a little to face him more squarely. Surprisingly, Bones doesn’t resist much.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Bones says.

“Do I look good in it?” Jim asks, beaming. There was a reason he’d put the shirt on in the first place, and it was to tease Bones with his own shirt, make him want to see what was underneath it again.

“Put some pants on if you’re going to be out on the balcony.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re a child.”

“I know.”

Bones kisses him for the first time that morning, tasting like morning breath but not in a horribly unattractive way, pressing close enough that the skin of their thighs sticks against each other’s.

“You look good in my shirt,” Bones says, after he pulls away.

“Thanks,” Jim replies. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“I bet it is.”

Jim kisses Bones again. His chin is scratchy against Jim’s, not having shaved yet today. It’s rough and manly and Jim enjoys the feeling.

“So, you gonna make me breakfast?” Jim asks.

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” Bones answers, echoing the same thing he’d said last night, when Jim had asked to stay. He looks Jim straight in the eyes. It’s a little intense, but then, Bones is always a little intense. “Look. I like you, Jim. Can’t pretend I don’t.”

Jim grins. “I like you, too.”

That’s enough, for now. Maybe they’ll fuck again – they most likely will. Maybe it’ll turn into a relationship, even. But for now, it’s nice to know that Bones _likes_ him, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks! sorry the last chapter was so long in the works, things got in the way and then it got forgotten and then it got away from me. but here it is, at long last. hope you enjoyed.


End file.
